


A Thing To Behold

by opalheart12



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Non-Immortal (The Old Guard), Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Grumpy/Sunshine, Joe and Nicky Are Teachers, Joe is grumpy, M/M, Meddling Kids, Nicky Is Sunshine, Romance, booker is drunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26294395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalheart12/pseuds/opalheart12
Summary: Nicky is the beloved workaholic high school history teacher with no life to speak of outside his job. Joe is the new brooding full-time drama teacher and cynical divorcee. Their students notice they happen to be single at the same time and wonder if Nicky can help Joe believe in love again.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 131
Kudos: 500





	1. Road Rage Makes For Strange Parking Lot Fellows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fic ever for this fandom. Hope you all enjoy it!

Road rage is a completely ridiculous concept that, on normal days, Niccolo di Genova (or “Nicky” as his friends affectionately called him) didn’t believe in participating in. He had a reputation, in fact, for being a generally peaceful and calm person. Except for right now when he was late for work on the first day of school. 

It really  _ really _ wasn’t his fault. The batteries in his alarm clock— yes, he still used alarm clocks because his phone was a completely unreliable and useless assemblage of metal— had died overnight. 

He usually woke up at 5 am for a morning run in his neighborhood that lasted an hour. He would take a shower upon his return home and make breakfast (usually eggs and toast) before getting dressed and leaving for work at 6:45 am. It was  _ imperative  _ that he leave at this time, otherwise he would be stuck in traffic and late for his first class of the day which began at 8:15 am. 

But this morning, instead of waking up at his usual time, Nicky woke up at 6:30 am. He had completely missed his morning run. He barely had time for breakfast (a single piece of toast and a glass of water he drank so fast it spilled down his shirt) and had to speed through getting dressed. He didn’t leave his apartment until 7:15 am and now his entire day was completely upended.

The object of his road rage was some asshole in a pickup truck who kept honking his horn obnoxiously because Nicky was unable to speed up. As if it was  _ his  _ fault for all the congestion on the highway. The pickup truck impatiently went to go around his modest Subaru just as Nicky was trying to get into the right lane. Both cars came to a sudden stop as they  _ very  _ narrowly avoided colliding with one another.

He rolled down the window just as the person in the pickup truck did the same. “ _ In nome di Dio cosa stai facendo, stronzo?! _ ” Nicky shouted angrily as he sped up ahead of the truck and directly in front of it. The driver pressed down on their horn for an absurd amount of time. Nicky stuck his hand out the window and flipped them off.

The traffic picked up a bit and eventually Nicky took his exit off the interstate, breathing the smallest sigh of relief until a look at the dashboard of his car informed him that he had thirty minutes before his first class started. “ _ Dio Santo,  _ I’m going to be late.” He muttered to himself. 

He was surprised to see as he turned onto the street where Old Guard Secondary Academy that the same pickup truck from the interstate was...following him? They didn’t seem to be in as much of a hurry now. Nicky turned into the teacher’s parking lot, thinking that he was likely just being a paranoid fool. Then the truck turned into the teacher’s parking lot too.

Nicky parked in his usual spot hoping the truck would pass him by. It didn’t. It parked next to him. And now Nicky was reminded of why road rage was a completely ridiculous concept that he normally didn’t believe in participating in. What if the person in the truck was a psychotic murderer who was going to shoot him for flipping him off? What if they were going to stalk him? What if—Nicky’s spiraling thoughts were interrupted by a tap on the window.

Booker was standing there looking appropriately concerned. Nicky sighed and turned off his car before gathering his bag and getting out. 

“Where the fuck have you been, asshole? I thought you got kidnapped or something.” Booker said, only half-joking. 

“All because I’m thirty minutes late?  _ Dio Santo _ , you worry too much. My alarm clock finally died on me.” Nicky replied. Booker took his bag from him and steered him toward the school building so they could walk inside. 

“Good. That thing was older than both of us put together. Now you can finally join the rest of us in the digital age and use your phone like a normal person, little bear.”

Nicky groaned at the affectionate name Booker had taken to calling him since they were in college. 

He’d stood up to a gang of drunk assholes defending the honor of Booker, who was then a quiet and brooding French international student just trying to drink himself to death in peace. He’d taken to calling Nicky “Little Bear” since the man in question had blindly punched a few of the men, swiping viciously at their faces like a bear would. “ _ Lasciatelo in pace, bastardi! _ ” He’d yelled. The drunk assholes left the bar and Booker dragged Nicky out through a back entrance hoping they wouldn’t be spotted in case the men decided they wanted retribution.

They had been best friends as close as brothers ever since.

“The digital age is horrible,” Nicky muttered as they entered the school building, all thoughts of the truck in the parking lot forgotten for the moment. It probably wasn’t the  _ same _ truck. There had to be plenty of black Ford F250s in Atlanta, right? 

It was now 8:00 am and there were only a precious fifteen minutes until Nicky’s first class started. He hadn’t even had the chance to get coffee yet. There were more than a few students in the hallways getting prepared for the day ahead. Most were still in the cafeteria at breakfast. 

“Good morning, Mr. G!” A short tenth grader named Shirin Jahani greeted him happily. She was known for her bubbly energy, warm smile, and stunning hijabs she made with her mother Yasmin at home. Nicky wasn’t supposed to have favorite students but Shirin was one. She worked hard, studied even harder, and always made his classes lively. 

“Good morning, Shirin. How is your mother?” He asked, pausing his walk with Booker, known to the students of Old Guard Secondary Academy as Mr. Le Livre. 

Shirin’s smile grew wider. “Much better now. She’s been in remission since May. Her hair’s growing back too!”

“That is wonderful to hear! Send her my best wishes.”

“Will do, Mr. G.”

Booker tugged at his arm and led him down the hall and into his classroom for the year. They had spent most of the previous week decorating it. Booker, of course, didn’t see the point in decorating a classroom. He taught Advanced French to the juniors and seniors and Intermediate French to the freshmen and sophomores. Aside from a few posters on the wall his room was a blank canvas. 

Nicky was very different.

He believed a classroom should be welcoming and inviting. It should immediately foster a positive environment for learning. As he taught all the history classes for grades 9-12 there were all sorts of things in his room: souvenirs from his travels around the world, pictures of him in front of various historical sites, posters both informative and inspirational alike, a meditation corner for students who weren’t having a good day and needed space away from everyone else, and even a wax warmer on his desk to chase away the awfully overpowering scent of fresh paint.

“I thought you might need coffee, little bear.” Booker said, gesturing to Nicky’s meticulously organized desk. Sure enough, a cup of coffee (probably from the teacher’s lounge) was sitting on the desk.

Nicky sat his bag down on the short filing cabinet next to his desk and glared at Booker before taking a sip of coffee. “You know,” he replied. “This coffee is just passable enough to keep me from stabbing you with my favorite pencil for that  _ name _ . I’m not little anymore!”

Booker smiled cheekily as he went to exit the classroom. “Of course not. And I am not a French alcoholic widower. But here we are.  _ Au revoir _ , Nicky!”

* * *

The first two classes Nicky taught were both sections of World History for the freshmen. They were small classes with about twenty students in each one, all of whom seemed very promising to Nicky.  _ All  _ the students he taught were very promising to him. Before he knew it, his planning period arrived as a welcome relief. The solitary piece of toast he’d scarfed down that morning had done nothing to allay his hunger. 

And so it was with an empty stomach that Nicky went into the front office in order to get to the teacher’s lounge. He’d always thought it was incredibly creative that OGSA had purposefully put the teacher’s lounge there to keep students from coming in and disturbing the peace of their instructors. It had saved his nerves from being too terribly frayed a number of times.

“Good morning, Mrs. Contreras,” Nicky said as he came in. The much older woman in question looked up at him with a bright fond smile. She’d cut her hair, Nicky noticed, and dyed it black. She was wearing a radiant yellow dress and the same black sweater she’d worn every day since Nicky had started teaching at OGSA five years ago. “How is your husband?” 

A deep blush appeared on her face as she stood up to hug Nicky warmly. “Doing much better after the hip replacement. He’s been back in Colombia visiting his brother for the past two months. You know, he’s getting married to that boyfriend of his in December! Finally! After fifteen years.”

Nicky pulled back smiling. “Beautiful. And how are the children?”

Mrs. Contreras sighed happily. “Lucia adores London, of course. I still think she’s too far away but Rodrigo swears she will be fine so I try not to worry. Armando is stationed at a base in Frankfurt so Lucia promised to try to go see him soon. They’re doing well.”

“ _ Che meraviglia _ ,” he replied sweetly. “Would you happen to know if there’s food in the lounge? I ran late this morning and I think I might fall over from hunger.” 

“I had a feeling someone might get hungry, you know. I brought some extra  _ arepas de queso _ from home. Take as many as you like!” 

Nicky didn’t have to be told twice. He thanked her and proceeded past the front desk and down the hall that would take him to the lounge. He was only slightly disappointed to see that he wasn’t alone. 

A man who was only slightly taller than Nicky with skin the color of Saharan sand under the radiant sun and a mess of dark curly hair was furiously tapping the hissing Keurig machine and muttering broodingly in what sounded to Nicky like Arabic. He was wearing a steel blue sweater with a white dress shirt underneath and khaki pants that fit so perfectly Nicky found his mouth watering. He’d completed this criminally beautiful outfit with chestnut-colored dress shoes.

“She won’t work if you’re mean to her,” Nicky said helpfully as he strode toward the machine in an attempt to help the man. “She’s moody. You have to be nice. She can sense fear.”

The man turned around and Nicky felt momentarily rooted to the spot. He didn’t think it was an exaggeration to say that this man was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen in his life. And he had seen a  _ lot _ of beautiful men in his life. He could see now that the man had a hard and frustrated expression on his face. He had a lovely beard that framed his face. From this angle, his deep brown eyes looked hard and wary. 

“What would you know about being nice?” The man commented dryly, venom dripping from his voice.

Nicky blinked out of the minor trance he was in, feeling confusion cloud his face. “Pardon me?”

The man glared at him as if he was supposed to know the answer to his question. When Nicky still stared at him in bewilderment the man rolled his eyes and huffed out an impatient sigh. “You don’t remember? ‘ _ In nome di Dio cosa stai facendo, stronzo!’ _ ” 

Nicky didn’t need a mirror to know his face had gone deathly pale. He had been right. The person in the black pickup truck had been the same person from the Great Road Rage Incident. And now it seemed that this man  _ worked _ at OGSA. Perfect. Nicky’s hand went to the back of his head nervously.

“Sorry about that. I had a hectic morning. Usually, I am not a raging speed demon.” Nicky admitted, feeling very much embarrassed now that he was standing in front of the object of his road rage mistake. “I thought...this morning I thought you parked next to me to kill me.”

Now the man appeared mildly amused. “Did you now?”

Nicky shrugged liked what he’d said was the most normal thing in the world. “What? I’ve heard stories.” He stepped toward the Keurig machine and began talking to it as if it were a small child. “Oh,  _ mio cara _ , was the mean man scaring you? It’s alright,  _ amore _ . I’ll tell him to be nicer to you. You’re not a mean little thing, are you? Of course not.” Nicky continued cooing and talking to the moody Keurig until the hissing stopped and balance was restored. 

He took down a K-cup of Kenyan coffee and popped it into the cartridge before shutting it. It was silent for only a few moments before it began pouring coffee into the man’s waiting mug under the faucet of the machine. Nicky turned around and grinned at the man. “ _ Perfetto _ . I assume we are now even after this morning.” 

The man raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”

“I’m Niccolo, by the way. I teach history for the high schoolers. And since I am certain I would remember a face like yours I know you must be new here.”

“Indeed,” the man replied. “Yusuf al-Kaysani. I’ll be teaching drama here.” 

Nicky extended a hand out for him to shake but Yusuf looked down at it warily before snatching up his mug off coffee and putting more distance between them. 

“I should get going. Classes to teach and all that.”

“Oh,” Nicky’s hand fell back to his side. An odd coil of disappointment sprang in his chest. “Of course. Have a good first day, Mr. al-Kaysani. And thank you, I suppose.”

Now it was Yusuf’s turn to look confused. “For what?”

Nicky laughed quietly as he walked to the fridge and got out the floral container with arepas and took three out to place on a stack of paper towels for the microwave. “For not killing me in the parking lot.”

Yusuf scoffed indignantly. “I would never do something so ridiculous.” Before Nicky could even form a response, Yusuf fled from the room with his coffee, muttering to himself in Arabic again. 

Nicky’s arepas finished in the microwave and he fishes a bottle of water out of the lounge fridge before collapsing onto one of the couches in the room, his mind in deep thought.

Had he known the objects of his road rage might be so beautiful to look at, he might have participated in the ridiculous concept of road rage a little sooner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? How we feeling?


	2. Might As Well Break The Ice, Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go with chapter 2! This one is in Joe's POV so I hope you all enjoy it! Thank you so much for your kind words.

New beginnings were fucking annoying. Truly. How fair _was_ it that the universe still disliked him so much? Hadn’t he suffered enough? 

His husband Keane had divorced him for another (richer) man named Merrick after what Yusuf had thought were five happy years of marriage. In actuality, Keane had been cheating on him the entire time. He’d dared to fight for the house Yusuf had bought for them with the insurance payout from when his mother died and _told_ Yusuf to move out.

The depression weighed too heavily on Yusuf for him to even attempt to fight back. It was all sad enough on its own. So, when an acquaintance of his from his Yale days reached out to him about an opening at one of the most prestigious private schools in the country for a drama teacher, Yusuf jumped at the opportunity. 

He’d taken what little money he had left and packed up to move from San Francisco to Atlanta with his father, Cyrus, and brothers, Darius and Mohammad. His father’s grocery store was still doing very well so Yusuf helped out during the summer as he waited for his job at OGSA to begin.

He hadn’t expected to be cussed out on the interstate in Italian by a criminally beautiful man who would also be his coworker. He also hadn’t expected to develop a rivalry with a fucking Keurig machine either. But here he was.

So far, his first day as a drama teacher was...not going well. 

Darius and Mohammad had stayed up most of the night playing video games, and the noise from it had crept through the very thin walls in the al-Kaysani household. If Yusuf never heard “ _Ah, shit. Here we go again.”_ from that awful Grand Theft Auto game it would be too soon. He loved his twin brothers. He did. Even if they made him want to sleep on the fucking roof.

Yusuf al-Kaysani without sleep was a disaster waiting to happen. It was a sheer miracle that his father’s breakfast improved his mood marginally. Cyrus had used his late wife Naima’s recipe for shakshouka in honor of Yusuf’s first day at Old Guard Secondary Academy.

“She smiles upon you from heaven, you know. She would be so proud if she were here.” Cyrus said softly as he put some shakshouka in a bowl for Yusuf. “Naima was a phenomenal teacher. She loved it so much!”

Yusuf gave his father a small smile despite the ache of grief in his heart for his mother. “Yes, _baba_ , I know. She probably would be making a list of all the things I’d need to remember for the classroom.” 

“And she would have packed you the biggest lunch. Like she did when it was your first day of school.” Cyrus replied fondly. 

It was an amazing thing, Yusuf thought, that his dad was still able to smile after losing the love of his life. Cyrus and Naima had been what Yusuf had always aspired to for his marriage. They had always openly and loudly loved each other. They had supported each other no matter what. Cyrus had even quit his job to stay home with Yusuf, Darius, and Mohammad so that Naima could go back to college. 

It wasn’t fair, Yusuf thought, that the universe would ruin a love like his parents by taking Naima away from them as it had. 

But there was hardly any time to dwell on that now. He had just a few more minutes before his first Advanced Drama class began. It was open to grades 9-12 and students had to audition for a spot in the class. As he hadn’t been the teacher last year he’d asked the principal of OGSA, James Copley, if he could make the kids reaudition for the class. Yusuf had been surprised when the man said yes.

Now, here he was with a room full of teenagers who would probably hate him at the end of the next sixty minutes. 

They were waiting in the front of the auditorium, already seated and chattering nervously to one another. They immediately grew silent when the door to the auditorium shut loudly as Yusuf entered. He held his binder and clipboard close to his chest, his reading glasses balanced precariously on top. 

The coffee from the teacher’s lounge had helped him feel a bit more focused, even if his mind kept drifting back to the annoying man who’d made it for him. He didn’t think he _hated_ Niccolo per se, but anyone would have animosity for the person who cussed them out on the interstate. 

If Yusuf still believed in love (or even the slightest chance of it for himself) he would have thought that Niccolo was perfect date material. But Yusuf _didn’t_ believe in love or even the slightest chance of it for himself. Not anymore. Not since Keane. Not since his mother’s death. And that was that.

“Good morning,” Yusuf stated gruffly as he came to stand at the front of the auditorium. “I am Mr. al-Kaysani, and I will be your new drama teacher. I am to understand that you already auditioned under your previous teacher, but as I don’t know any of you, you _all_ will be auditioning again. If you do not make it into Advanced Drama, you will be placed in Theater Tech & Design until auditions for the spring semester at which point you will be allowed to audition again.” 

Some of the students looked shocked. A few were indignant. Many looked a bit relieved. 

“What if we don’t want to reaudition?” A tall student with violet-colored hair asked. “Can we just join TTD instead?”

Yusuf smiled slightly. “Yes. If you would like to join TTD instead and have no desire to reaudition for Advanced Drama please stand at this time and move to the seats on the left side of the auditorium. Those who do wish to reaudition will move to the seats on the right side.”

Of the twenty students seated, five moved to the left and the remaining fifteen moved to the right. Yusuf walked to that section and began handing out copies of what they were to use for their audition.

“Uh...sir? These are poems.” A timid Black boy with dreads and hearing aids pointed out. 

“Excellent observation. Your name and grade?” Yusuf called out as he finished passing out the copies.

“Ezra, sir. Ezra Donovan. I’m a sophomore.”

“Wonderful. Well, class, Mr. Donovan is indeed correct. You will be reauditioning today using either Love Sonnet 17 by Pablo Neruda, an excerpt from An Ode to Sadness by Nizar Qabbani, or I Carry Your Heart With Me by E. E. Cummings,” Yusuf explained. “The goal is for you to take it and make it your own. How will you make yourself stand out to both me and your classmates? Show me, with your recitation of one of these poems, _why_ you deserve to be in this class.” 

The students all began talking quietly to one another. The excitement and nervousness were palpable in the air. A few students started looking utterly terrified. Yusuf frowned slightly and began to tug on his bottom lip as he considered them. 

“If it helps,” Yusuf said loudly. They stopped talking immediately. “I will try one myself first. Might as well break the ice, right?” 

Some of the students laughed quietly. 

“Fine. Alright. Which one am I doing?” Yusuf asked. “I’ll let one of you decide. Let’s see.” He made a big show of scanning the entire auditorium before his eyes settled on one of the students on the TTD side of the auditorium. 

She was a tall Asian girl with jet black hair gathered into a French braid across her shoulder. She wore red cat-eye glasses and a bright yellow sweater with black jeans. 

“You,” he said, pointing at her. “Your name and grade?” 

The girl’s eyes went comically wide. “Thalia Kono. Freshman.”

Yusuf smiled warmly at her. “Ms. Kono, would you mind deciding which poem I will act out for your classmates?”

Thalia’s eyes went wider if that was at all possible. She swallowed nervously and looked for all the world like she wished the ground would swallow her whole. Finally, she shrugged. “I guess the Cummings one?”

A few immature students sniggered at her choice and she rolled her eyes, sinking a little lower in her seat.

“Then it shall be.”

Yusuf pulled himself up onto the stage of the auditorium and paced for a moment. The Cummings poem wasn’t too difficult. He could recite it in his sleep. It wasn’t like he was _nervous_ in front of these kids. Well, he was, but not because he had stage fright. It had been quite some time since Yusuf had been on a stage of any kind. Keane had hated theatre and acting and anything to do with it. To appease him, Yusuf had cut it out of his life and had regretted it nearly every day since. 

But Keane wasn’t around anymore. He never would be again. For now, at least, Yusuf felt safe enough to dip his toe back in the proverbial water. He _could_ do this. He’d gone to Yale for fuck’s sake. He took a deep breath and faced his students. 

“ _I carry your heart with me_ …”

* * *

By lunch, it was all over the school that Mr. al-Kaysani had made the entire Advanced Drama class cry on the first day. 

It wasn’t because they were all scared of him. No, his rendition of the E. E. Cummings in Arabic had made a few students cry with how emotional and beautiful it was. Some of the other students stared at him in awe, wondering how the hell their audition could come anywhere close to what he had just done. 

In the end, Thalia had switched to the audition side and made it along with young Ezra Donovan, Haley Denton, Evelyn Cox, Indus Freeman, Ambrose Kostopoulos, Aiden Wu, and Roman Benjamin. Four students made it in as understudies: Ashley Baker, Ximena Vallejo, Samar Khan, and Rho Madsen. The other students would be moved to TTD for the rest of the semester.

“Well, look at you starting trouble on your first day. That might be a new record for the school.” 

Yusuf looked up from his desk and saw a Black woman with braids wearing a silk bomber jacket, jeans, and Converse. He didn’t say anything, choosing to think that his brain waves might propel her out of his room for the time being. 

She didn’t read his mind at all.

“I’m Nile Freeman. Music teacher. I teach orchestra. I figured since we’ll probably be working together for the fall and spring plays I should introduce myself. Besides, it’s always good to make a friend on the first day, right?”

Nile stuck a hand out and for the second time that day, Yusuf didn’t reciprocate. It didn’t seem to phase her though. She took a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk and leaned forward so that one of her elbows was resting on the desk. 

Yusuf eyed her warily. She probably had a point. They’d be seeing a lot of each other. It was for the best that he cultivate that particular relationship sooner rather than later.

“I assume you’re related to Indus Freeman? He’s a student of mine.” He stacked the papers on his desk into a neat pile and pushed them aside.

Nile nodded. “He’s my little brother. How’d you guess?”

Yusuf shrugged. “How many people are named after major rivers?”

“Fair point. Have you met any of the other teachers here yet?”

“Niccolo something. I don’t know his last name.” Yusuf replied distastefully. He still didn’t care for the man. He supposed he wasn’t _always_ like that. After all, traffic could make even the nicest people lose their minds. At least he’d apologized. 

Nile’s face lit up. “di Genova! All the students call him Mr. G. He comes to pretty much all the school events to support his students.”

“Mm,” Yusuf replied. “Sounds nice.”

_Fine_ , he thought to himself. _I’ll give him another chance_.

“Yeah. Anyway, I wanted to let you know that I have an idea for the fall play. So, I was thinking you could do _King Lear_! It’s been a while since anyone’s done it here and it could be fun.” Nile explained excitedly. “I can even write something for my students to play for it!”

Yusuf felt astonishment come to his face. “You _write_ your own music? For an orchestra?” 

She shrugged as if what she said was no big deal. “Sometimes, yeah. The last two years, our winter concert has been all my own compositions. I do a piece or two for the spring concert too. So, what do you think?”

“I think,” Yusuf began slowly, feeling his estimation of Nile Freeman rise dramatically. “That I would be honored to work with you this year, Ms. Freeman. _King Lear,_ it is.”

Nile squealed from the other side of the desk and sprang up from the chair. “Yes! Oh, can I hug you? Please let me hug you.”

Yusuf nodded in resignation. So, Nile was a hugger. He supposed that was good to know. She seemed so excited that he felt like denying her wasn’t an option. The force of her hug nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. 

“I’ll start working on it tonight! I’ll send you something in two weeks. Maybe you can sit in on some of my classes if you have a free period. My students are quick learners.” 

He smiled briefly at her. “Sounds like a plan. Thank you for stopping by, Nile.”

They said their goodbyes and soon Yusuf was alone in his office again. He had another class, Intro to Drama, beginning in an hour or so. More than enough time for him to leave campus and grab some lunch. 

He moved quickly and with all the speed of a teacher who knew they had very limited time to address their biological imperatives. He was back in the teacher’s parking lot soon enough and practically ran to his truck.

If he hadn’t been so focused on lunch as he pulled out of his parking space he might have noticed the Subaru he’d parked next to this morning, the one that belonged to Niccolo di Genova, was backing out at the same time as him. He might have noticed that it was attempting to back out in the opposite direction of him.

So, Yusuf had no choice but to notice the sickening crunch of metal when the two cars backed into each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh. Maybe the Great Road Rage Debacle isn't quite over just yet. How are we feeling, friends? Share your thoughts with comments!


	3. Stop Your Whining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW//Mentions of grief and alcoholism recovery

“I told you I was sorry for this morning! If you did not accept my apology you could have just  _ said _ so!  _ Dio aiutami _ !” 

“Me?!  _ You _ are still angry at me for this morning! Cussing me out and flipping me off wasn’t enough so you  _ crashed  _ into my car?!” 

“ _ Non ha senso! Stai ascoltando te stesso? Quello che dici è folle! _ ”

“Holy shit, little bear. A car crash on the first day? Now I feel a little better about having my license suspended.”

Nicky stopped for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a deep breath. “Booker, I normally appreciate your impeccable sense of humor but  _ per l'amor di Dio _ not now!”

The great thing about the teacher’s parking lot was that there were no students who were allowed to park or be in it. The bad thing about the teacher’s parking lot was that it was in full view of the school cafeteria which meant that practically the entire school had now seen Nicky and Yusuf’s crash.

Well, crash was a strong word. It implied that  _ both _ cars were equally impacted by the collision and that was most certainly  _ not  _ the case right now.

“Mr. al-Kaysani,—“

“Oh, so I’m not ‘ _ stronzo _ ’ anymore?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Booker muttered in amusement. “Aren’t you two a basket of muffins.” 

Both Yusuf and Nicky glared at Booker in a way that communicated they would both prefer his voice to stop making words for even a  _ second _ .

“ _ Yusuf _ ,” Nicky tried again. The man in question would never admit that his mouth watered a bit when Nicky said his name like that. “This monster truck of yours barely has a  _ scuff mark _ on it. Both of my tail lights are ruined and my bumper now has three dents in it that weren’t there before. The trunk of my car won’t even close all the way.” 

Booker laughed as he cocked his head to the side to take in the sorry state of Nicky’s car. “I hate to say it, Nicky, but the dents might be an improvement.”

Nicky groaned and looked toward the sky as if he hoped it would send lightning to smite him then and there. “Booker, I swear to God—“

“Fine, fine, fine.” Booker replied placatingly, both hands up in surrender. “ _ Je ne parlerai plus _ .”

Yusuf rolled his eyes and squatted to reach under Nicky’s bumper. He was able to fix all three dents by pulling the depressed metal toward him with a few strained groans.

Nicky hadn’t known that something could make his mouth so dry. He really  _ really _ tried to ignore the way his stomach tingled at the sounds coming from the man.  _ Focus _ , a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Booker reminded him.  _ He crashed into your car! _ Nicky glared, appropriately angry, at Yusuf as he stood from the ground and dusted off his khaki pants. 

Nope. 

The voice in his head practically slapped his forehead telling him to  _ focus _ and revel in his anger for once in his life.

“There. Now only your tail lights and trunk are ruined.” 

A little cartoon version of Booker laughed evilly in Nicky’s mind and began to pour fire on the anger and exasperation he was already feeling. He laughed mirthlessly. “Ah, so you admit they  _ are  _ ruined!” 

“ _ ‘Am al’lih! _ Fine. Fine! Yes, they are ruined. But my truck now has a white scuff mark on it that will  _ never _ come out!” 

Yusuf was being over dramatic and both he and Nicky knew it. There was no way in hell Yusuf would ever admit to Niccolo di Genova, Ruiner of Trucks and Morning Commutes, that  _ he  _ was right. 

The man made it very difficult though. The blush in his face and neck and his slight pout made him positively adorable to Yusuf. And that was on top of how distracting Niccolo’s mouth was when he angrily shouted in Italian.

_ Wonderful _ , Yusuf thought to himself.  _ How can you think about how cute he is when he’s been an asshole to you all day?! _

“Oh, please,” Booker interjected, pushing his way between the two of them and startling Yusuf from the lecture he was getting from his conscience. “Stop your whining.” He pushed Nicky’s trunk open and pulled out a bottle of Scratch Out and an old rag from the corner of it. He put some of the liquid on the rag and scrubbed aggressively at the scuff mark on Yusuf’s truck. A few seconds later it was gone. 

Yusuf gaped at him in disbelief. “What the hell?!”

Booker shrugged and smiled between the two of them. “Now you have no scuff mark. And  _ now _ you pay for Nicky’s car to get fixed, eh?  _ Bonhomme _ .” Booker gave Yusuf a pat on his shoulder that made him want to punch the smirk off the man’s face. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there is a cappuccino across the street with my name on it.  _ Bonne journée _ !” 

He gave Nicky a pat on his shoulder too before beginning his journey through the parking lot to the coffee shop across the street. Nicky stared after him, a simultaneously annoyed and grateful expression on his face.

Yusuf felt himself deflate with an exhausted sigh. A headache was beginning to form behind his eyes. He closed his eyes tightly and rubbed his temples. “Alright. My cousin Samir owns a shop on Moreland and McLendon. Just bring your car by after school and he’ll have it fixed in a couple hours.”

Nicky huffed in vexation. “How much?”

Yusuf leveled a look at him not entirely unlike the one he’d fixed Nicky with not more than two hours before, as if he was asking a question he should already know the answer to. “Seriously?”

Nicky returned Yusuf’s expression tenfold. “ _ How much _ ?” 

Yusuf rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Samir’s Shop. Moreland and McLendon.” He glared at Nicky like he wished he could melt him into the ground on the spot. “He’ll know you’re coming.”

Then, without another word, he got back in his truck and drove off.

* * *

Booker was, for lack of a better word, doing better. 

How much better  _ was _ better when he was still grieving the loss of his wife and child? Well, for starters he was fresh off of a summer in rehab thanks to Nicky. Rock bottom for Booker had been the last day of school the previous school year which was, incidentally, what would have been his late daughter’s tenth birthday. 

May 27th. 

He’d drank so much he’d blacked out and woke up sleeping in the hallway outside Nicky’s apartment. His shoes and shirt were missing. An ambulance had to be called. At the time, Booker thought the action to be a bit extreme. Some distance from the situation had informed him that there really  _ was _ no overreacting when alcohol poisoning was involved.

Making matters worse was the DUI he got just a week later when he was released from the hospital. As a result, he was required to enter a rehab facility and his license was suspended for a year. Wonderful.

Nicky did all the research and even used half his own savings to get Booker into a decent treatment facility. No matter how much he tried, Booker’s attempts to pay Nicky back had been met with refusal every time.

“ _ I would not ask you to repay me if I’d paid for surgery if your arm broke or if you needed liver surgery. Which is why I’m doing this, Sebastian.”  _ Nicky had said. He never called Booker by his real name unless things were serious. “ _ By helping you with rehab I am actually saving money for myself, you see. Do you know how much more expensive a liver surgery is? Doesn’t that make you feel good? _ ”

His best friend had supported him every step of the way in his recovery. It was purely because of Niccolo di Genova that Booker wasn’t dead yet. 

But he was doing better now.

He’d been sober for three months now. He was living alone again and doing well at it. His wife and daughter had been gone now for five years. He thought he might actually get around to trying to  _ live _ again instead of existing.

It was hard and it always would be. There would always be two Colette and Giselle shaped holes in his heart as long as he lived. 

But he was doing better now.

He entered Grounded For Life Coffee Shop and made his way to the counter for his usual lunch order: turkey caprese panini and a cappuccino with almond milk. The problem was that there was already someone in front of him, someone who was beginning to show him a light in the tunnel of his ongoing grief.

“Hey, Ash. Everything going good today?”

Nile Freeman stood in front of him in her usual bomber jacket, jeans, and Converse talking to the barista at the counter. Her braids were tied up in a bun now. He could see she was wearing large silver hoop earrings. Standing this close to her, he could smell the faintest hints of her perfume, something like mint and freesia. 

“Yeah, I’ll get a turkey caprese panini and an iced chai. Almond milk. And maybe a lemon cookie too? Yeah, that’ll be good. How much?” 

“I got it.” The words practically fought their way out of Booker’s mouth. Nile turned around in surprise and pleasant recognition. He felt his knees turn to jelly. Was she always  _ this _ beautiful? Is this just how she looked all the time? It hardly felt fair. “It’s on me.”

“Oh,” Nile breathed out shyly. “Mr. Le Livre! You really don’t have to do that—“

“Please,” Booker pleaded. “It’s the first day of school. Everyone else seems to be having a shitty one so I figured I should try to make sure you and I are immune.”

She laughed. She  _ laughed _ and Booker felt like the world gained a bit more color in it. It was always like that when he was around her. 

“Well, I need all the good energy I can get. I already had a student lose a cello this morning. How the  _ hell _ do you even lose a  _ cello _ ?”

Booker didn’t know. But he was happy to listen to Nile’s theories and rants as they ate their lunch. They laughed as they noticed they’d ordered the same sandwich. They bonded over their shared obsession with almond milk and French art. 

“It’s a shame we don’t get to see each other much around the school. I’ve been wanting to do some French pieces for my orchestra classes but I can’t seem to find any I like.” Nile explained. “Guess I just haven’t found much inspiration.”

“Well, if you need some the High Museum of Art is running an exhibit on Rodin. No replicas.” Booker offered.

Nile’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree and Booker felt himself turning into a pile of jelly on the insides. Jesus fucking Christ was he in for it. “An honest-to-God Rodin?!”

“Several of them.” Booker replied before demolishing the last half of his sandwich. 

“Wow! I’ve been wanting to see some of his work for years now. We should go check it out! Are you free Saturday? We could make a day of it. Have lunch in Winn Park, the whole nine.” Nile said hopefully. “What do you think?”

There was a part of him, a sad shell of him really, that wanted to say no. Nile didn’t know how much baggage he came with or that he was a recovering alcoholic. Would she  _ want _ a date with him if she knew those things.

_ It’s a date, Booker, not a marriage proposal _ . That sounded suspiciously like Nicky in his mind.  _ Say yes, you fool. _

“I think I’d love to. I’ll meet you at the museum at noon.” 

The smile Nile gave him felt like it burned out all the doubt inside him and he knew he would do anything to see it, to  _ feel  _ it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what are we feeling?!


	4. INTERLUDE: Mountains Were Not Supposed to Be People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! Dropping this quick little chapter mainly to get us moving a little further along in the story. Super excited for chapter 5!

Mountains were supposed to be big. They were supposed to be snow capped and rocky. They were supposed to inanimate  _ things _ , proof that Earth could rise as high as it wanted.

Mountains were not supposed to be  _ people _ .

Nicky stared up at the mechanic wondering how the hell him and Yusuf were related. 

Samir Nasiri was indeed a mountain of a man. Nicky felt like he was staring up at the reproductive product of a war tank and bulldozer in human form. The man was large, six foot five by Nicky’s estimate, and at least three hundred pounds of solid muscle. His blue mechanic’s uniform looked as if he might burst out of it any moment. He was a bald man with one of the most impressive beards Nicky had ever seen and had tattoos covering his entire head and most of his neck: dragons, an octopus, and a rather elaborate tiger.

“Good afternoon,” Nicky breathed out. “Your cousin told me to come here. He kind of fucked up my car.” 

Samir raised an eyebrow at him.  _ Ah,  _ Nicky thought to himself.  _ There’s the family resemblance _ . “Did he now? That sounds about right for him.” His voice was rough and rugged like the rest of him but he was somehow soft spoken. He didn’t sound as though he’d ever yelled in his life. 

“Does it?” Nicky asked curiously.

Samir laughed to himself. “Yeah, really. You know, I taught him how to drive in my beat up Pinto. He crashed it into my mom’s mailbox when he tried to accelerate for the first time!” 

Nicky grimaced. “Unfortunate.”

“For him, maybe. I thought it was hilarious. Plus, I was able to tell my insurance it was a hit-and-run so I got a new car out of it. Threatened to kill him if he wrecked  _ that _ one.” Samir smiled wryly at Nicky, as though they were both in on some kind of secret. 

“He said you’d know I was coming.” 

Samir nodded. “Yep. Called me a few hours ago. Paid over the phone.”

“ _ Dio Santo _ , how much?” Nicky asked in exasperation.

Samir smiled warmly at him. “He told me, in these exact words, ‘if he asks you how much, just intimidate the shit out of him until he doesn’t want to know anymore’, but I think he’s being a bit—“

“Overdramatic?” Nicky supplied. 

“Very. But not to worry. I’ll get your car fixed up in an hour or two. In the meantime, if you wanna wait in the lobby you can. My wife, Yasmin, is at the desk. She’s good company if you’re a talkative sort.” 

Nicky nodded and went to the waiting area in question, the door creaking noisily as he came inside. It was awash in fluorescent lighting and the glow of fairly new tv. There was a little table with a Keurig, exactly three K-cups, and no creamer or sugar to speak of. A small basket sat next to the Keurig with a lone bag of Doritos. 

At a half-moon desk in an extremely comfortable looking office chair sat a tiny and slightly chubby woman who looked as though she’d swallowed an enormous beach ball. She was wearing a blush colored sundress, a tan cardigan, and fuzzy tan colored slides that looked like small animals were asleep on top of them. Her long, thick hair was propped over one shoulder in a dark brown voluminous mass. She turned and greeted Nicky with a smile.

“Oh, hey! You’re Yusuf’s friend, right? The one who cussed him out on the interstate?  _ Nice _ . I used to tell him all the time he’d get into trouble one day if he kept driving like a bat out of hell.” Her greenish brown eyes sparkled and Nicky would have sworn her chestnut colored skin was  _ glowing _ .

Nicky thought that “friend” was a strong word. He was beginning to consider Yusuf al-Kaysani might be his arch nemesis. “Thank you, but I’m afraid it wasn’t my finest hour.”

Yasmin waved him away dismissively with one hand, the other rubbing her belly absently. “Oh, please. If road rage is the worst thing you’ve ever done you might be a saint.”

He found himself laughing alongside her. “Yes, well, when I saw your husband I briefly thought he might throttle me to defend Yusuf’s honor.” 

“Samir?” Yasmim asked incredulously. “Babe, he calls  _ me  _ to kill the spiders in our house. Don’t let the brick wall build fool you. I  _ happily  _ wear the pants in this marriage . Well, I  _ used  _ to before these two happened.” She gestured down at her stomach and rolled her eyes.

Nicky’s eyes widened slightly. “Congratulations. Twins sounds—“

“Like hell?” Yasmin asked. “Because it’s  _ hell _ . Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t even seven months yet?”

“You hardly look a day over three.”

She winked at him and popped a Dorito into her mouth. “You keep that up and I might ask Samir to give you a free set of new tires.”

Nicky pulled a chair closer to her desk. “Do you have names picked out yet?” 

Yasmin shrugged. “There’s a list. But for some reason I’m starting to hate every name  _ on _ it. We’ll figure it out when the boys get here. It’s probably gonna be a C-section. Dr. Mache says they’re already pretty big.” 

“A healthy and happy pregnancy be upon you then. I’m sure they will be the most adorable babies the world has ever seen.” Nicky replied.

He and Yasmin continued their conversation for the next two and a half hours. They talked about everything from how she and Samir met (Yusuf introduced them at a birthday party for his brothers a few years back), places she’d traveled to (Jordan, India, Morocco, Chile, and France but she  _ promised _ she was doing Thailand for her 30th birthday next year), and even how she found out she was pregnant (a dolphin at the marine biology lab she worked in kept nudging her stomach). 

Eventually, Samir came in to let him know his car was ready. Nicky said his goodbyes to Yasmin, making a mental note to get her a gift or at least flowers for her babies. His car was as good as new and he would never have known the parking lot crash had even happened if he hadn’t been there to witness it himself.

Samir noticeably swelled when Nicky tried to pay. He relented when Nicky told him he at least deserved a tip for his hard work. “$200 is more than enough.” Samir said gratefully as he pocketed the money.

“Of course. Congratulations on your babies, by the way.” Nicky bade the man and his wife goodbye and made his way home wondering how the hell he was supposed to thank his arch nemesis.

Arch nemeses didn’t  _ deserve _ thanks. Not when they’d smashed your car to a nearly unrecognizable—

_ Do stop whining _ , Booker’s voice groaned in his head.  _ It doesn’t look good on you, little bear. _

“Fine,” Nicky muttered to himself as he parked in front of his apartment building “I’ll stop by his office this week to thank him. And then I’ll avoid him like the plague.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonder how successful Nicky will be in avoiding Yusuf...and where the hell is Andy?! Find out next time on Dragonball Z.


	5. Each More Painful Than The Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:// Broken bones, alcoholism, grief mentioned

As it happened, avoiding Yusuf al-Kaysani like the plague wasn’t terribly difficult for Nicky. The drama department and the history department never intersected at all. But that didn’t mean that all the _worst_ things that could happen when the two were around each other _didn’t_ happen.

Exactly a week after the Great Road Rage Day, Nicky walked into Yusuf as he was coming out of the teacher’s lounge. Boiling hot coffee spilled all over Yusuf’s chest and he hissed in pain. Nicky freaked out and tried to help him clean up but, as always where he and Yusuf were concerned, he made things worse somehow. The mug he’d been holding fell to the floor and shattered. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry! Here, let me help—“

Yusuf grabbed both his wrists firmly and pushed him slightly away. “Trust me when I say you _really_ have done enough.” He cursed to himself and stood from the floor. Mrs. Contreras gave him a pitying look and told her there were some extra OGSA sweatshirts in the nearby supply closet he could change into. 

Nicky quietly swept up the glass and mopped up the spilled coffee, all the while wondering why the inside of his chest stung just a bit when Yusuf pushed him away. 

About two weeks after The Great Coffee Collision, Nicky came to the auditorium just as the Intro to Drama class was letting out. He was supposed to be looking for his car keys he suspected had fallen out of his pocket during the school assembly earlier that day. 

He remembered being on the stage to help with the curtains and move some boxes backstage. Copley had stopped him to ask him a question about the assembly and then—

“What are you doing here?”

Nicky was normally a very balanced person. He’d gone cliff diving visiting his cousins on the Amalfi Coast. He’d ziplined in Greece on a high school trip. If his memory served him, he’d successfully stood on a balance beam on the playground at recess _daily_ back in first grade. 

So it was a tragedy of Shakespearian proportions that he lost his balance on the edge of the stage and went tumbling down to the floor. It wasn’t a short fall. 

Nicky blinked several times as his skull rattled with the impact of falling. A sharp pain that felt as if it were radiating from the center of his skull outward and he groaned as Yusuf —was there _supposed_ to be two of him?— stood over him.

But the worst pain was coming from his left arm. He’d used it to try to break his fall which really was the _worst_ possible thing he could have done. He could practically hear his cousin Ricardo scolding him in his mind’s eye. 

“Mother _fuck_ ,” Nicky groaned as he tried to move his left arm and felt it _not_ do what he wanted it to. “What’s wrong with my arm?”

Yusuf crouched down next to him with what could _almost_ be considered an apologetic expression on his face. “I think you may have a concussion and a broken arm. You need a doctor.” 

Nicky shook his head. “No,” he breathed out. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“It’s kind of a big deal.”

“It really isn’t. I’m fine, I’ll be fine. Just let me—“ Nicky was trying to stand. He was putting forth a valiant effort. But now that he was upright the world was beginning to spin again.

“Nope. Not fine.”

* * *

It was truly lucky that the waiting room in the ER at Heights Memorial Hospital was practically empty. Nicky was dangerously close to falling asleep again. Yusuf would be lying if he said he didn’t take pleasure in slapping Nicky’s uninjured arm to keep him awake.

“You can’t go to sleep yet. You might have a concussion.” Yusuf instructed him dryly. 

“My head is about to detach from my body. Just leave me to die, Mr. al-Kaysani.” Nicky mumbled, trying to duck his head away from the obscenely bright lights of the waiting room.

Another half-hour went by before Nicky’s name was called. “Niccolo di Genova?” 

A tall Asian woman stood with a clipboard in her hand, her pen tapping incessantly against it. Yusuf was half tempted to grab the pen and throw it in the trash if it meant she’d stop but he recognized his nerves were frayed and he absolutely needed to _chill_. Besides, Nicky was the one who was hurt.

Yusuf was uncomfortable with the way his stomach turned every time Nicky groaned in pain. It felt _wrong_ , even if he didn’t like the man. 

The woman walked over to Nicky and Yusuf smiling warmly as she bent down slightly to get the attention of the former. “Mr. di Genova, I’m Dr. Noriko-Mache. Do you wanna come with me to the back?”

“Does that mean moving?”

She frowned slightly. “Unfortunately, yes. _But_ it also means no more bright lights and a possible nap. That sound good to you?” 

Nicky only groaned. Yusuf looked pityingly at the man and frowned. “I think that means yes,” he said.

He helped Nicky stand and walk to the small room Dr. Noriko-Mache would be examining him in. Yusuf told himself that the only reason he was even back here was so that he could get something to blackmail Nicky with some time up the road.

Medicated ramblings were a hit on YouTube.

* * *

Andrea Mache straightened her pristine red pantsuit as she sat cross-legged in the office of Principle James Copley. Her chocolate brown hair was stylishly cut and, as always, her face was hard and unreadable. 

“Good afternoon, Dr. Copley.” 

The man in question had just entered his office with two mugs of steaming tea. Andrea’s had two spoons of honey and cream. James personally thought that was an abomination but he’d never tell the President of the Parent-Teacher Association that. 

“Good afternoon, Dr. Mache. I’m so glad you could join me today. I know you’re a busy woman so I’ll cut to the chase: the drama department is planning to do _King Lear_ for the fall play this year. I thought you and your wife might be interested in spearheading a week-long bake sale to raise some funds for them.”

Andrea sighed. “ _King Lear_? Finally some good fucking food.”

Copley raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s a collaborative effort between Ms. Freeman and the new drama teacher, Mr. al-Kaysani. I figured some you and Dr. Noriko-Mache’s _friends_ might wish to attend.”

She smiled wryly. “The rich ones? Jim, I’m supposed to be saving those for the winter gala.” 

“Fair. But could I persuade you to make a generous donation to our theater department? Anonymously, of course. I know how much you hate for people to know you have a soul under that tough exterior of yours.” Copley replied with a smile.

Andrea rolled her eyes. “Quynh’s just going to bother me about it until I get worn down anyway. Fuck it. How much do you want?”

Copley had the audacity to look bashful. “Andy, we don’t need—“

Her eyes flashed. “Jim, I didn’t ask how much you _need_ . I asked how much you _want_. I’m richer than God for fuck’s sake. Anything I can do to get rid of this fucking money I will.”

It was true. 

Andrea Mache was a world-renowned OB/GYN. She’d worked with Doctors Without Borders in Nepal, Yemen, Cameroon, and Ecuador for the first part of her career. She’d been a distinguished graduate of Harvard Medical School. She was married to her best friend and fellow Harvard Med graduate Quynh Noriko-Mache. They had two children together and were actively considering a third. All of that was well and good. 

But Andy didn’t _need_ to do any of that if she didn’t want to. Her father, a multi-millionaire, left her his entire fortune when he died. She’d been trying to get rid of his money ever since. She made more than enough as a doctor. Anything more to her was just excessive. She considered herself lucky that Quynh felt the same way.

Every year since their daughters, Vanessa and Clara, started at OGSA four years ago, the Noriko-Mache family frequently donated to the school. So far, OGSA had been able to have free nutritious breakfast and lunch for all students, four state-of-the-art computer labs, two more student counselors, and paid college application and SAT testing for all students. 

Copley hated to view Andrea and her family as a bank, but if he were being honest with himself it was really only through her and Quynh’s donations that OGSA was even able to stay afloat after Merrick practically ran it into the ground. Now, the school was a thriving safe haven and the crown jewel of private schools in the South. The waiting list was miles long and only grew longer when it was announced that the Lykon Foundation made a sizable donation that meant OGSA would be tuition-free for the next seven years. 

Under Andy’s glare, Copley sighed. “I’ll consult with Mr. al-Kaysani and see what his estimates are. In the meantime, how’s the planning for the fall festival going?”

Andy shrugged. “Who knows? I leave Quynh and the other PTA parents to do all that shit. I told them not to call me until it was time to pay for something. I’ll tell her to email you this week with updates. She was able to secure Winn Park again this year.”

“Wonderful,” Copley replied with a smile. “Andy, I can’t thank you enough for everything you and your family have done for this school. So many things were impossible before you got here.”

A pained grimace was clear on Andy’s face. “Oh, God, please don’t do...whatever this is. I’m just doing what anyone with more money than they can spend in nine lifetimes _should_ be doing. These kids deserve all and more.” 

Despite her discomfort at being thanked for _anything_ , her voice was soft and Copley knew she meant every word.

* * *

The last time Sebastian le Livre had been this nervous was the day his daughter Giselle was born. 

He had, of course, abstained from drinking for Colette’s entire pregnancy in solidarity with her. But he couldn’t remember a time before then when he’d wanted a drink so _badly_ . There was no way he’d be a good father, right? How the fuck was he supposed to know? He’d never even known _his_ father. And babies? He’d never been around a single one in his life unless he counted Niccolo. (He didn’t count Niccolo.)

But the second he laid eyes on Giselle all of his fears evaporated in an instant. She’d been crying, screaming really, before the doctors passed her to him. She’d stopped immediately and looked up at him with curious eyes before reaching up to swipe at his face. The moment he felt her tiny fingers graze his mouth he knew he was done for. He would die a thousand deaths, each more painful than the last, to protect her. He knew he would likely go broke trying to give her anything her heart desired. 

And five years later it had all gone up in smoke, both literally and figuratively. 

He swallowed harshly as he felt tears fight their way up through his throat. The park suddenly felt like too many people were there. Were they all staring at him? Could they tell that he was losing it? Was he the only one who felt like every breath he drew in and out was the hardest thing he’d ever done. _Fuck_ , he just wanted one drink. One. One drink to make him feel like it was safe to exist again. 

“Am I late?”

Booker opened his eyes, realizing his head hurt a bit from closing them so tightly. His clenched fists relaxed and opened at the sound of her voice. Nile was here. She was _here_ with him. And she’d shown up just in time to see him have a panic attack. Wonderful.

“No,” he choked out. “Right on time.”

She frowned at him in concern and sat down next to him on the bench. She reached out and took one of his shaking hands in hers. “Are you ok? We can get out of here you know. Rodin can wait another day.”

Booker shook his head and tried to slow his breathing. “No. You’ve dreamed of seeing him so we will.”

Nile leaned down so that her face was level with his. “Rodin can wait another day,” she repeated. “We can have lunch at my place. What do you think?”

  
He couldn’t understand for the life of him why she was okay with this. He was a fucking mess. Was that _not_ painfully obvious? He looked at her as if he wasn’t even sure that he _was_ looking at her. But she smiled tentatively at him and he started to think maybe, just _maybe_ , he would die a thousand deaths, each more painful than the last, to see in himself what she seemed to see in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww poor Booker! How are you guys feeling after this chapter?


	6. This Is Who You Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is entirely about Nicky and some of his backstory. The next chapter will be all about Yusuf and more of his backstory! Plus, an appearance by his twin brothers and MAYBE Samir and Yasmin? Hope you all enjoy!

Nicky didn’t  _ mean _ to make his mother hate Yusuf. She just  _ did _ . It was his own fault if he was honest. 

Lucia di Genova had always been terrifyingly astute when it came to the voices of her children. She could tell something was wrong by even the slightest tremor in their voice. Nicky was the baby,  _ her _ baby, of the family. Marcella was the oldest and had been twelve when Niccolo was born. Carlotta was the middle child and had been ten at the time. He had never been terribly close to his sisters given the age difference between them all. Both of them were in college by the time he was ten. As such, he spent a  _ lot _ of time with his mother. She knew his voice when he was sad, anxious, stressed, and even hungry.

“You don’t eat enough,  _ caro.  _ I know you don’t.” Lucia harped on to him in rapid Italian. “Your father and I worry about you, Niccolo. You’re all alone in America and we’re all here. Why don’t you come home,  _ caro _ ?”

He reminded himself that his parents loved him. They loved him so much and  _ that _ was why they worried so much and wanted him to come back to Italy so badly. 

“I’m fine here,  _ mamma _ . And I’m not alone! Zio Donatello lives here!” Nicky replied patiently.

“In  _ New York _ ,  _ amore _ !”

“Then he can get to me first if anything serious happens. Besides, work is fine. The students are amazing as always. There’s this new teacher that doesn’t seem to like me very much though.” Nicky found that the best way to get his mother off of the “come back home this instant” train was to start telling her about his life in Atlanta.

“I don’t like him. I hate him.” Lucia replied immediately. 

Nicky laughed and it echoed off the walls of his apartment as he adjusted his position on the sofa, taking extra care to adjust his arm in a way that didn’t make him want to scream in pain. If his mother detected even the  _ faintest  _ hint that something was wrong with him she would be on his doorstep in hours. “ _ Mamma _ , you don’t even know him!”

He could practically hear her shrug. “I don’t care. Anyone who doesn’t like  _ mio bellissimo angioletto _ is someone I hate,” she promptly replied. “Is he handsome?”

Nicky groaned. “ _ Dio Santo, mamma _ ! Please don’t.”

“What?! You are a beautiful young man! And you know I don’t like that you’re alone in that city. My friend, Angela, her cousin’s son lives in Atlanta! Perhaps I should call her and you two could—“

“ _ Mamma _ , I do  _ not _ need you to set me up with anyone. Besides, I hardly have time for any of that with the work I do.” It was true. To say that Nicky was a workaholic was putting it mildly. He taught, was an advisor for clubs, and went to various school extracurricular events to support his students. When he wasn’t doing those things he was at home. He didn’t  _ want _ to date and it wasn’t for lack of trying.

His family accepted him for who he was which he hadn’t expected given how Catholic they were. He’d waited until the night before he left for America to tell them all. At least they wouldn’t be able to disown him if he was already across the ocean. But they hadn’t disowned him.

* * *

_ The entire di Genova family was gathered at the family home in Salerno for Nicky’s going away party. He’d just graduated from college and was moving to Atlanta in America. Booker was already there working as a French teacher at an international school with his pregnant wife. After several peer pressuring phone calls with his best friend, Nicky decided to make the jump much to his family’s complete and utter devastation. _

_ “I just don’t see why you want to leave us behind so badly, Nico! Everything you know is  _ here _!” Carlotta griped as she reached down to scoop up one of her daughters from the floor.  _

_ He raised an eyebrow at his older sister. “Lotti, you literally  _ never  _ call me or want to hang out with me and you live across the city! At least Marcella has a good excuse: she lives all the way in Germany.”  _

_ Carlotta’s sea glass colored eyes rolled so hard Nicky wondered if they might fall out of her head. “For the last time, Nico, I have  _ children! _ Between Adriana and Marlena, the divorce, and my business I’m always too busy. You know if I could hang out with my favorite baby brother for days on end I would.” _

_ His expression softened. “I’m your only baby brother.” _

_ She reached across the table to pinch his cheek. “As long as you know. I’m gonna miss you, bambino _ .” 

_ Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “I’m not a child, Lotti.” _

_ Carlotta stopped pinching his cheek and ran a hand through his hair instead before catching his gaze. “You’re our baby, Nico. You always will be.” _

_ “Carlotta Fiorenza, leave your brother alone. It’s his last night home!” Angelo, Nicky’s father, admonished as he came inside from the courtyard, the smell of expensive tobacco clinging to his clothes. _

_ “I didn’t do anything!” For a woman who was thirty-two years old, she sounded so much like a child in that moment that Nicky had to laugh. He squeezed her hand as he got up from the table and bent down to kiss his niece, Marlena, in her arms. _

_ “Love you, Lotti,” Nicky said. _

_ She smiled up at him fondly. “Love you, too, little brother.” _

_ Did she? Would she after tonight?  _

_ Not for the first time this particular night, nerves clawed at Nicky’s stomach as he thought about what he planned to tell his family tonight. He prayed fervently for months that they wouldn’t disown him. He’d said nothing to the priests at church. Salerno was ridiculously small and felt nearly microscopic when gossip was involved. _

_ An hour later, the whole family and a few—Lucia di Genova’s idea of “few” needed some work— family friends were congregated in the courtyard at the tables Angelo and some neighbors set up earlier in the day. Most were already on their third or fourth glass of wine.  _

_ Nicky, Marcella, Carlotta, Lucia, and Angelo were all seated at a bigger table in the corner of the courtyard behind the prayer fountain. Both Marcella and Carlotta’s children were running around the tables playing tag and hide-and-seek. Nicky looked around the table, taking in the smiles and joy on his family’s faces just in case. He wrung his hands nervously under the table. _

_ Just then, his phone vibrated against his thigh. He pulled it out discreetly—Lucia hated phones at the dinner table—and saw he had a text from Booker. _

**Booker (8:24pm): You got this, little bear. Colette wants me to tell you she and Giselle agree.**

**Nicky (8:25pm): Please tell me you have the bourbon ready for when this all inevitably goes wrong.**

**Booker (8:26pm): Don’t I always?**

**Nicky (8:26pm): Great.**

_ He put his phone away and took a deep breath. Niccolo di Genova was never a man to beat around the bush. Small talk made him nervous, especially when he already  _ was _ nervous. He cleared his throat and squeezed his hands so tightly into fists that it hurt. _

_ “There’s something you all need to know. Before I go, I mean.” His voice shook slightly as he spoke just loud enough for everyone at the table to hear him. “I know you will probably be upset with me after. You won’t want me around anymore.” _

_ Now they all looked worried. Marcella’s hawk-like gaze bore down on him. Lucia detected the shiver in her son’s voice and appeared deeply concerned as had Angelo. Carlotta, as she had for her entire life, looked just like Nicky.  _

_ “What is it, Niccolo?” Angelo asked, his voice low and gravelly.  _

_ He took a breath and leaned forward. “I...I’m gay,” He didn’t even let the words hang in the air before he continued quickly. “I know you will hate me now because of it. But I will be gone tomorrow and I’ll understand if you never wish to see me again. If anyone asks, you can tell them I’ve died if it makes you feel better.” _

_ The rest of the di Genova’s faces were varying degrees of horrified. Nicky tried not to let that stop him as he continued.  _

_ “I’ve known my whole life. That’s why things with me and Renata Russo never...anyway. I’ll leave tonight. You won’t have to drive me to the airport. I’ll get a taxi.” He made to stand up but his mother’s steel toned voice stopped him immediately in his tracks. _

_ “Niccolo Amato di Genova, you sit back down this instant.” Lucia hissed in a voice barely above a whisper.  _

_ The nerves clawed harder through his stomach, and rather than it feeling like butterflies gone mad his stomach felt like he’d swallowed a bag of cats. “Mamma, please don’t—“ _

_ “Be quiet!” Lucia hissed. He could see tears forming in her eyes. He began to feel sick as he saw the same in Carlotta and Marcella’s eyes. His father’s face was unreadable. “Do you truly think so little of us? How could you?” _

_ Nicky felt confused. “What?” _

_ Lucia reached across the table and grabbed one of his hands so tightly he could feel her nails digging into his skin. “You are  _ mine _ , Niccolo. I made you. I carried you. I know you inside and out. You have to know, caro, there is absolutely  _ nothing  _ on this earth that could make me love you less.” _

_ He felt as if the world had begun to warp around him. He could hear the blood rushing through his head and ears. He felt as though his spirit was beginning to slip out of his body. _

_ “We would never abandon you, mio figlio. Never.” Angelo stated gruffly. “The moment we discovered your existence we made a promise to ourselves and to God to love you unconditionally. That could never change, Niccolo.” _

_ His mouth felt like he’d been chewing sand. “But...but the church—“ _

_ Marcella scoffed and leaned forward to ruffle a hand softly through his hair. She’d been twelve when he was born but up until she left for college he would run to her sometimes after a bad dream. She would hug him tightly and swear to fight any monsters under his bed, his knight in shining armor.  _

_ “Nico, this is who you are. You have to know we love every single part of you. All of it. We would never be ashamed of you. We would never... _ could never _ hate you.” _

_ Carlotta mirrored her sister’s actions. “Nico,” she began. “None of this changes anything. If you’re happy then we’re happy. And besides, if anyone has a problem with you, we’ll kill them.” She said it like it was the simplest and most obvious thing in the world.  _

_ Nicky felt like he might float away. _

* * *

“Make time, Niccolo,” Lucia said seriously, pulling Nicky from his memory of coming out to his family. “Do not be so busy that your own life passes you by. You are a wonderful human. I should know; I made you. There is so much love in your heart,  _ caro _ .”

Nicky felt himself blush. “ _ Grazie, mamma _ .”

“Now, tell me more about this Yusuf. What possible reason could he have not to like  _ mio bellissimo angioletto _ ?”

And Nicky told her everything from the road rage to the crash to the coffee incident to him falling off the stage. He knew he was poking the hornet hive with his next statement but it was what it was. “I got a concussion and broke my arm,  _ mamma _ .”

“ _ Figlio di puttana! _ ” Lucia hissed.

Nicky could not stop laughing. “Language,  _ mamma _ .”

She tsked at him and he could practically see her waving him off dismissively. “I hate him, this Yusuf. Whoever he is, may his family’s crops wither and—“

“ _ Mamma _ , he brought me to the hospital. He even came with me when I was called back. He called Booker to the hospital and had him bring me up to my apartment when he dropped me off. Besides, it  _ really _ wasn’t his fault. He just scared me and I fell off the stage.” Nicky explained, cutting off the curse upon Yusuf’s ancestral line his mother was beginning.

“Hm,” Lucia replied reluctantly. “I suppose I do not  _ hate _ this Yusuf. I still don’t  _ like _ him though. He does not like you and so I do not like him.”

Their conversation steered away from Yusuf and from Nicky’s general chaotic energy and into other things. Marcella was now living in France with her husband Godric and their son Leo. Carlotta’s boyfriend Ambrose—“ _ Greek _ , Niccolo.  _ Dio Santo.” _ —was probably going to propose soon. Angelo was still a pain in his wife’s neck since his retirement; he was attempting too many home improvement projects for Lucia’s taste.

Eventually, the hour grew late and Lucia told him she needed to get ready for mass. He told her how much he loved her and told her goodnight. 

Nicky took his pain medication and fell asleep feeling so homesick his chest ached dully all through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scale of 1-10 how hard are you crying right now?


	7. Deep Breaths Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW//: Mention of suicide and a suicide note; detailed panic attack; grief; loss of a parent  
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Losing himself in focused tasks was one of the main reasons Yusuf loved helping out at his father’s grocery store. 

The al-Kaysani family arrived in America from Tunisia when Yusuf was twelve years old. After getting their citizenship, the al-Kaysani family opened the AZ International Food Mart on Park Heights Avenue in East Atlanta. It was fairly large and always busy. Yusuf’s first job until he went to college was at his father’s store.

When he was sixteen, his twin brothers Darius and Mohammad were born. They helped out at the grocery store two weekends out of the month and two days out of every week now that they were fifteen. Cyrus adamantly opposed them working for longer than that. 

Today, Yusuf was taking care of opening the store today with Darius and Mohammad. His father Cyrus was presently helping Samir set up for Yasmin’s baby shower. The store would be closing at 6 pm today so they wouldn’t be late for it. 

He was processing new shipments of food today, thankfully far away from the registers up front that often required him to be more social than he wished to be. Yusuf arrived at the store at 5 am even though it wouldn’t open until 10 am precisely to have five hours alone to himself. It was nearing 9:30 am now and Yusuf was more than halfway through the week’s shipment. If Mohammad and Darius arrived soon he could be done within another hour or two.

His mind was, as much as he hated to admit it, still on Niccolo di Genova aka The Walking Talking Disaster Human. Yesterday, he’d taken the man to the hospital and made sure, with help of The Most Annoying Man Alive, that he got home relatively safely. Yusuf was more concerned about how discomfited he’d been to see Niccolo in pain. It wasn’t making much sense to him. 

He found himself wondering if maybe he’d given the man a hard time. After all, it wasn’t Niccolo’s fault that Yusuf’s like was a trash fire at the moment. He’d been divorced, cheated on, kicked out of the house he’d bought, grieving his dead mother, in living in the same house as his father and teenage twin brothers. That was enough to make anyone feel like the universe pissed in their Cheerios.

“Good morning, brother of mine.” A singsong voice distracted him from the miasma of his thoughts.

“Don’t you mean brother of  _ mine _ ? I’m older than you, remember?”

“No,  _ I’m  _ older than  _ you _ !”

Yusuf dropped the box he was holding unceremoniously onto the worktable. “And I have the distinct misfortune of being related to  _ both _ of you.” 

Darius and Mohammad al-Kaysani stopped their bickering as they came into the storeroom. “That stick up your ass must be painful,” Darius commented dryly. 

Mohammad sniggered behind his hand and attempted to cover it up with a cough. “So, uh, what are we supposed to be doing?”

Yusuf smiled brightly at his younger brothers. “How about you finish processing these shipments? Teamwork makes the dream work, right?” He couldn’t help the rather satisfied feeling he got at their miserable groans.

“Don’t worry,” Yusuf said as he steered them toward the work table. “It builds character.”

* * *

The day slogged by. 

Yusuf felt as if his mind was wet cement. Trying to stay focused on restocking food and checking out customers made him feel anxious. Aside from him and his twin brothers, there were only three other people working today: an older Black woman named Lana, a young grad student named Erol, and a high schooler from his brothers’ school named Adalyn. His brothers spent another three hours in the back finishing the new shipments before they came to join him on the floor.

“You think Adalyn would go to the homecoming dance with me?” Darius asked quietly from his place at the bagging area. The girl in question was ringing up customers two lanes over. Yusuf looked over at his brother who looked so much like their mother it pained him for a moment.

Unlike Mohammad, Darius had their mother’s golden-green eyes and thick curly hair that grew like bad grass. Mohammad looked a bit more like their father but had the same curly hair as his brother. His brothers were both nearly his height and had the beginnings of facial hair coming in. Yusuf suddenly wondered when they’d gotten so old. 

“She’d be crazy not to,” Yusuf replied.

“You have to say that,” Darius said. “You’re my brother.”

It always blew Yusuf away that he and his brothers were so different from one another. They were sixteen years apart and in some parts of the world, Yusuf would have been old enough to  _ be _ their father. But it was times like this, when his brothers needed advice on things Yusuf hadn’t even had a chance to consider at their age, that he was so aware of how different they were.

His brothers didn’t have the same thick accent that Yusuf and their parents had. They had only visited Tunisia twice in their lives: once when their grandfather died and once when their mother died. They would never know the anxiety and stress and fear Yusuf had felt coming to a new country with his parents and feeling all alone. 

“I really don’t,” Yusuf replied quickly enough. “I  _ could _ tell you that she’s out of your league and a  _ whole _ year older than you but that’s not what big brothers do.”

Darius rolled his eyes and scoffed indignantly.

“What big brothers  _ do _ ,” Yusuf continued. “is tell their precious baby brother to notice how Adalyn keeps looking over at you, blushing and smiling to herself, so she  _ most definitely  _ wants to go to the dance with  _ you _ .”

His brother gave him a reluctant smile. “ _ Yaishek _ ,  _ khouya _ .” 

“Anytime, D. But wait until the end of your shift and hers. The poor girl will be in a daze if you do it now.” Yusuf replied. 

The end of the shift came soon enough. They began to prepare the store for closing at 5 pm and by the time the doors were locked at 6 pm they were nearly done. Yusuf and Erol headed into the back to his father’s office to count the receipts and the money for the day. It didn’t escape his notice as he headed to the back that Darius was wringing his hands nervously as he walked up to Adalyn who was straightening up her register. Mohammad stood not terribly far away trying to stifle laughter at his brother’s nerves.

* * *

The last time Yusuf had been to anyone’s baby shower was when his mother was pregnant with his brothers. He’d been required to assist his father and the few friends they’d made since moving to Atlanta with setting up for it. 

As Yusuf buttoned the light blue shirt he was wearing up to the top, he sighed at the heaviness in his chest. He pulled on a brown motorcycle jacket Samir had given him years ago and adjusted the belt on his black jeans before stepping away from the mirror.

It had been nine months since Naima al-Kaysani died. In January it would be a full year. He tried not to let his mind wander too far back to the day he’d gotten that odd letter in the mail and how, an hour later, his father called to tell him what actually happened.

But now that his mind was wandering it didn’t seem to want to  _ stop _ .

* * *

_ 9 Months Ago… _

_ Yusuf stared at the letter in confusion, feeling an odd chill go down his spine. Keane’s voice could be heard in his office as he yelled at one of the people who worked for him to do as he asked or there would be consequences. It sounded so far away.  _

**_My beautiful Yusuf,_ **

**_You and your brothers are the best things I ever created in this world. Please know that I love you all so very much. You are the sunlight that illuminates the darkest parts of me. I’m so sorry, ya amar. You will know why soon enough. But please please know that it isn’t your fault or your brothers’ or your father’s. I have been strong enough for so long. I cannot be anymore, habibi._ **

**_I feel so hopeless and helpless and trapped. I know you would understand. You and I are twin flames. I am weak. There is no strength left in me to keep going. Please do not be angry, Yusuf. Know that I no longer suffer but that I have found true peace._ **

**_I have written letters for Darius and Mohammad. They are under their mattresses. The letter for your father is in his night table drawer._ **

**_I love you so much, Yusuf. Please forgive me._ **

_ Yusuf’s hands began to shake as he dropped the letter on the kitchen counter and scrambled for his phone to call his father. Three times, no answer. A glance at the stove told him that Darius and Mohammad would be in school right now and wouldn’t be able to answer if he called. He called Samir and again received no answer. Yasmin was probably at work too.  _

_ Why would no one answer?! _

_ He tried his father five more times with the very same result. He wanted to scream. Something was  _ wrong _. He knew it just as surely as he knew his own name. He began to pace across the room nervously, wringing his hands so hard he thought he might pull the skin from them if he tried any harder.  _

_ Then, his phone rang.  _

_ He’d never heard his father’s voice shake. He’d never heard him cry. He’d never heard him sound so aimless. _

_ “Your mother, Yusuf. It’s your mother.” Cyrus al-Kaysani’s voice sounded like an unfortunate parody of itself. “She’s gone, habibi.” _

_ When his phone fell to the floor, the screen shattering as it skittered away, he absently thought that at least now he could get a new phone since this one was ruined. He couldn’t remember what happened next very well. He knew he fell to the floor. He knew that an almost inhuman wail of mourning escaped his body, sounding alien to his own ears. He very distantly heard Keane’s office door open and saw the outline of his body in the doorway. He couldn’t see much else because his eyes were rapidly filling with tears.  _

_ Keane was speaking to him, but it might as well have been coming from underwater. He felt like he was in a tunnel, hurtling through space unable to see the light. His chest felt like it weighed a ton. He wanted to crumble under the heaviness of it all.  _

_ And he did. _

* * *

“Are you  _ making _ the clothes yourself? Hurry up. Dad’s already blowing up my phone asking where we are.” Mohammad’s bored voice yanked at Yusuf’s consciousness, pulling him up through the oceanic mire of his grief and into the open air of the present. He felt as if he’d just run a mile. 

Yusuf turned to his brother as he tried to get more air into his lungs. It wasn’t happening. Why wasn’t it happening? Why couldn’t he  _ breathe _ ? Mohammad stood a little straighter in the doorway, concern flickering in his typically disinterested eyes. Yusuf’s eyes burned as tears struck through them like knives. His breathing had gotten worse. “I can’t--Mo, I can’t--” He gestured to his chest just as the world began to spin.

Mohammad rushed forward and helped his brother to the floor. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here,  _ khouya _ .” He sat down next to Yusuf and rubbed his back. “Deep breaths now, Yusuf, it’s okay. Just breathe with me. It’ll be okay.” He began to breathe deeply, in and out, trying to get Yusuf to match him. 

It took a while. By the time Yusuf regained control of his breathing he felt like a wrung-out dishrag. The tears still weren’t going away though. Crying in front of his kid brother? Oh, he was  _ crushing _ this post-divorce adult thing. “I’m sorry,” Yusuf mumbled after a while. His brother’s hand was still on his back and his eyes still bored through him as if he thought another panic attack was in the pipeline. “That happens sometimes. It--I never know when. I’m sorry, Mo, I know we’re late now.”

“Stop apologizing, weirdo. I know anxiety when I see it.”

Yusuf huffed out a watery laugh. “Oh, you do?”

“Yeah, I do,” Mohammad replied with a laugh of his own. “Do you still want to go to Samir and Yasmin’s thing?”

“Of course. If I don’t, Yasmin will turn me into a throw rug. Samir would take the remains and turn me into motor oil.” Yusuf replied, feeling himself calm down a bit more. His brother was right. He was going to be ok. He had to be.

  
“I don’t think that’s actually possible but it sounds like enough of a threat to motivate me to get us to the baby thing  _ faster _ . Be down at the car in ten minutes, please. Preferably  _ before _ we all waste away into skeletons.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Yusuf :( Next chapter we're visiting Booker & Nile AND getting back to the school to see Teacher Nicky and Teacher Yusuf! Leave a review if you'd like!


	8. The Fall of Rome

October arrived quickly, bringing cool crisp air to the city and buzzing excitement for the upcoming Fall Festival Fundraiser. It was always held the Saturday before Halloween and launched Spirit Week at the school, culminating in a soccer match the following Saturday between OGSA and a crosstown rival school.

And what would October be without a surprise?

“You  _ what _ ?!” Yusuf asked as he hurried after Nile into her classroom. The last class of the day had just finished and Nile was organizing the sheet music on the music stands. 

“I signed us up to volunteer for the Fall Festival. All the faculty has to anyway. Anyone who doesn’t volunteer gets stuck with Dr. Mache and trust me, Yusuf, that’s the last thing you want.” 

The man in question rolled his eyes and plopped down onto one of the chairs in the orchestra room. “I didn’t  _ want _ to volunteer for anything! I’m busy that weekend!”

Nile raised an eyebrow. “Doing?”

He sputtered for a moment before throwing his hands up in frustration. “ _ Stuff _ , Nile!  _ Things _ ! Or did you forget we only have two more months until the play?”

Nile rolled her eyes. “ _ Only _ two months? Yusuf, it’s  _ one  _ day! A Saturday at that. I don’t think the auditorium will collapse and crumble if you help out at the Fall Festival.”

He closed his eyes and cursed inwardly. He knew Nile was right. The closer they got to the play the more anxious Yusuf got. He’d been using it as a distraction. More often that not, he wouldn’t get home until nearly 9pm some nights for all the work he’d decided to throw himself into.

“Fine,” he bit back grudgingly. “What are we doing?”

Nile walked over to her desk and grabbed her cello from the floor, dragging it to the chair in the front of the room. “We’re in charge of the apple cider. I’ve already been told to expect a bribe from the PTA to make an adults only version too.”

“For how long?” Yusuf asked. The thought of spending a Saturday at the park for a school festival fundraiser didn’t appeal to him at all. 

“Two hour shifts. We have one in the morning and one in the afternoon. On top of that, we get free admission to the festival  _ and  _ free food. Trust me when I say that Dr. Noriko-Mache makes a  _ mean _ cinnamon sugar cookie.”

“Isn’t that just a snickerdoodle?” Yusuf asked. 

Nile gave him a flat look and adjusted her cello between her legs. “Hers aren’t. Now, could you hush up so I can play you this piece I made for the play? It’s for the scene when Cordelia dies.”

Yusuf got comfortable and decided to give Nile his undivided attention. This wasn’t the first time he’d heard her play but it was the first time he’d be hearing anything she wrote for the play.

There truly was nothing like seeing Nile Freeman on a cello. One arm held it close to her body while the other glided with effortless poise across the strings. Her eyes were closed, her face somehow more expressive despite this, looking for all the world as if she was reacting to something only she could see. She extracted low mournful notes from the cello as though she were a skilled surgeon. Yusuf couldn’t help feeling emotional as he lost himself in the song, visualizing in his mind’s eye the scene in question.

It was perfect.

Yusuf would swear until he was blue in the face that he hadn’t cried listening to Nile’s song. It was fine. No one believed him. Anyone who’d ever heard Nile Freeman play knew it was like hearing God themself play.

* * *

For as long as he had been teaching, Nicky always assigned presentations to his students about a historical event or person related to whatever they were learning at the time. This time the presentations were centered around the fall of the western half of the Roman Empire. It was always fun for him to see his students be so creative. 

Shirin Jahani, one of his favorite students, was up now, and for as much energy as she always had when participating in class or asking questions, public speaking was not her forte. She had a tendency to clam up and sputter but always asked to go first anyway for the sake of just getting it done.

“W-w-when the city of Rome was s-sacked by the V-V-Visigoths and King Alaric in...in—“

“God, we’re gonna be here all day.” A student mumbled rather loudly. “Could you hurry up? Some of us actually wanna present today.”

“That was incredibly rude, Roman. It takes a lot to be able to speak and present your work in front of others. Don’t you think Shirin deserves an apology?” Nicky asked sternly as he watched him from his desk. 

Roman shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “For what? I’m just telling the truth! She does this  _ every time _ we have to present something. It’s annoying! Why can’t she just speak normally like everybody else?!”

Shirin’s jaw clenched and she stared hard at the paper in front of her for a moment before looking resolutely at the board that her presentation was projected onto. Nicky could see her swallowing quickly and her eyes shined with tears. 

“Roman Benjamin, step outside immediately.” Nicky commanded with a power in his voice his students rarely were witness to. “If you cannot be respectful to your classmates then you do not need to be in class right now.”

The boy rolled his eyes and stood up, shoving the chair so hard into his desk that both objects toppled over. Shirin and some of the other students flinched. He didn’t stop to pick them up. Nicky glared at the overturned chair and desk before taking a deep breath and turning to Shirin.

“I apologize for interrupting your presentation. Please continue, Shirin.” Nicky said.

She did as he said. “The sack of Rome in 410 AD was...was...it came as a sh-shock to both f-f-friends of Rome and enemies as well.” Shirin seemed to have gained a second wind now that Roman was no longer in the classroom. She was still tripping up over her words but the rest of the class was incredibly encouraging.

Thalia Kono, Haley Denton, and Rho Madsen were all incredibly supportive, each of them complimenting Shirin on different parts of her presentation and asking questions that allowed her to relax and get a bit more comfortable with explaining her research.

“Anyway,” Shirin finished with a sigh as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. “I hope you guys liked my presentation on the sack of Rome in 410 AD and how it symbolized the end of the western Roman Empire.” 

Nicky applauded her as did the rest of the class and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes came to her face. Rho touched Shirin’s arm as she walked back to her seat, catching her nervous gaze. “I thought your presentation was really cool, Shirin.”

She smiled and this time it  _ was _ genuine. “Thanks.” 

Nicky looked down at his watch and noticed there was only a minute left in class. “Alright, friends, we are officially at the end of class. Those of you who haven’t presented yet will be doing so next week starting on Monday. Your homework in preparation is to write a two page essay on the topic you chose for your presentation, summarizing it and stating what resources you used for your research.” 

The students began to pack up and were standing to leave the classroom, each of them pointedly ignoring the still overturned desk and chair from Roman’s outburst. Shirin was much slower to pack her things. Nicky saw her swiping furiously at her eyes as she tried to shove her binder into her backpack. Rho stood from their desk and walked over to her. Thalia and Haley lingered by the door.

“That guy sucks.” 

Shirin looked up, surprised to see Rho standing there. “Yeah, I guess he does. At least I’m not by myself there.” She mumbled the last part quietly, but not nearly as quietly as she thought she had.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Rho replied. “Roman’s an asshole and a bully. You’re better than him even on your worst day.”

Shirin stared at Rho as if she was seeing them for the first time. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

That seemed to satisfy Rho. They smiled and ran a hand through their ink black hair. “Anyway, you should sit with me, Thalia, and Haley today if you want. We usually sit at—“

“The table under the tree in the courtyard, I know. Not that I’ve been stalking you all or whatever.” Shirin replied. “I’m being weird again, aren’t I?”

Thalia smiled at her from across the room. “We like weird. At least we know we aren’t by ourselves there.” She winked at Shirin and the girl’s nerves seemed to melt out of her. 

Nicky watched as Shirin followed Rho, Thalia, and Haley out of the classroom, a smile on his face. He knew she would be alright now. He’d still be sure to follow up with her later to make sure everything was okay. 

But for now he had bigger fish to fry. 

He stepped out of the classroom and noticed that Roman was sitting against the wall, an irritated expression on his face. He rolled his eyes when he saw Nicky come out. 

“I’d like a moment to speak to you, Roman.”

The boy stood up and shoved past Nicky into the classroom. He clamped down on the tight flash of anger that rippled through him as he followed the boy in. 

“If you could please fix your desk and chair, Roman, that would be wonderful.” Nicky’s voice had returned to its stern and slightly disapproving tone from earlier. “I’m sure you understand that your behavior today was unacceptable and incredibly unkind to your classmate.”

Roman huffed as he yanked the desk up from the floor. The chair was not long behind it. “Whatever, dude.”

Nicky sat on a nearby desk. “Is there something going on that you’d like to tell me about, Roman?” He was trying his best not to lose his patience. He’d had more challenging students than Roman Benjamin over the years. There was almost always some outside event that caused the anger, outbursts, and attitudes.

“Why do you care?” Roman asked.

Nicky shrugged. “You’re one of my students. I always care.”

The boy seemed to visibly deflate, as if the weight of whatever he was feeling was crushing him again. He glanced at Nicky apprehensively, waiting a few moments before speaking. “My dad isn’t coming to my soccer game this weekend. He said he’d come when there was something worth supporting.” 

Nicky felt anger on Roman’s behalf. What kind of father could say such a thing to their own child. “I can’t imagine how hurtful that must have felt, Roman, but you have to know that lashing out at your classmates isn’t a healthy way to process that pain.”

Roman shrugged as he stared at the floor but didn’t say anything else. 

“Shirin deserves an apology, don’t you think?” Nicky asked gently.

Again, the boy shrugged. “I guess.” 

“Good,” Nicky replied. “I trust you know that I’ll be talking to Mr. al-Kaysani today as well. I’m sure he would love to see one of his students volunteer to come help clean up the school this weekend in place of getting detention so soon in the school year.” 

“Okay.” He sounded defeated. And even after his earlier outburst, Nicky still felt bad for him. He was angry. He wanted someone,  _ anyone _ to notice him. He supposed that might be enough to make anyone lash out. 

Roman packed up his bag and headed for the door. Just as he was about to turn the doorknob Nicky called out to him. “Roman!”

The boy turned around.

“I’ll be at your soccer game this weekend, alright?”

Now Roman just looked confused. “But...why?”

Nicky gave him a quiet smile. “Because I think you’re worth supporting.”

* * *

Yusuf was attempting to paint over the large drawing he’d created on the plywood. It was already cut into the shape he needed and while the pencil marks were a bit difficult to see, Yusuf al-Kaysani had a sharp eye when it came to designing things.

He reached up with his paintbrush, feeling his shirt rise slightly, exposing his warm skin to the frigid air of the auditorium. He was humming to himself as he worked, an old song his mother used to sing around the house that his grandmother used to sing to her. He could never remember all the words but the melody was seared into him like a brand. When the melody got away from him after a while, he resorted to reciting the poetry he’d so loved writing back in college.

“If I told the sun of the brightness of your love I should think it would fall from the sky and beg at your feet for warmth.” Yusuf began as he painted. “I should think the stars themselves would fall into your eyes for even a glimpse of your light. I should think the night itself would retreat from the sky to see your radiance in the light of day. And you open your heart to me. How fortunate must I be?”

“Beautiful words. Are they yours?”

Yusuf almost fell backward off the ladder. He would have. He  _ thought  _ he was going to. But that was until he heard racing footsteps and felt arms encircle him in an attempt to break his fall. It was no use. They both tumbled to the floor in a heap.

And that was how the incoming Advanced Drama class walked into the auditorium to find Yusuf on top of Nicky, panting as though the wind had been knocked out of him.


	9. INTERLUDE: Wouldn’t Be the First Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is criminally short, I know, but I’ll hopefully be able to update this weekend! For now, enjoy this interlude as it helps us get to the next bit of the story! Enjoy!

Nicky thought he knew what it was to have the wind knocked out of him. He’d been in plenty of fights as a teenager and lost his fair share. He’d fallen off of this very stage only weeks before. He  _ knew  _ what it was to have the wind knocked out of him.

But apparently he was wrong.

Nothing in the world could have prepared him for the way Yusuf was looking down at him. He was acutely aware of the other man and the way his body moved against his with every pant he took in for more air. His pupils were blown wide and his mouth was only slightly open.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Yusuf hissed at him but there was hardly any of the usual venom behind it. “You could’ve killed me!”

Nicky shrugged as best he could under him while still being transfixed. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

It was fortunate that, while Yusuf was hissing curses at Nicky, the students of Advanced Drama chose that precise moment to announce their presence.

“Ohmygod, what happened?!” Evelyn Cox asked, her mouth wide open enough to catch flies. 

Nicky groaned in pain as Yusuf rolled off of him. The paint brush lay a few feet away along with a toppled can of paint that, thankfully, hadn’t spilled off the tarp Yusuf had underneath the ladder. His arm, which had only  _ just _ began to heal from his last encounter with Yusuf in the auditorium, stung painfully.

Nicky cursed in Italian and shut his eyes tight as he felt a sting go up his arm. He’d need to ice it and put it back in the sling later just to be on the safe side. “ _ Figlio di puttana! _ How much do you weigh?” Nicky asked as he tried (horribly, as Yusuf would tell him later) to stand up. 

By the time Nicky had his wits about him, Yusuf was directing the students toward the stage to help clean up the paint. “We’re fine. I just fell off the ladder is all,” he explained to the students. “I’m going to have a word with Mr. di Genova. The first of you to finish cleaning up the paint gets my unending respect and gratitude.” 

The students laughed to themselves but did as he asked. Two students, though, were eying Nicky and Yusuf as they walked to the far end of the auditorium to discuss whatever it was they needed to discuss. Thalia Kono and Indus Freeman watched as Nicky and Yusuf spoke in hushed tones about something they couldn’t hear. 

“It wasn’t enough to break my arm so you had to try for my back too?” Nicky asked with a sly smile.

Yusuf glared at him. “You literally almost broke my back.”

“I protected it. There is a difference.”

Yusuf rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “Is there a particular reason Hurricane Niccolo has made landfall in my auditorium today?” 

Nicky frowned indignantly. “ _ Hurricane _ ?”

“Yes,  _ hurricane _ , you disaster of a human!” 

“ _ Stronzo _ .”

“Name calling? Really?” Yusuf asked, exasperated.

Nicky shrugged and gave a pointed look at the other man. “If you _ must  _ know, I came to speak with you about Roman Benjamin. I know he’s a student of yours and he’s going to be in the winter play, no?”

Yusuf nodded wordlessly.

Nicky proceeded to explain what had happened in his class earlier, watching as Yusuf’s expression went from shocked to horrified and back again. “I told him a Saturday spent  _ volunteering  _ to clean up the school would probably be best if he wanted to avoid detention. Perhaps  _ he  _ can be the one to clean up the mess you made with the paint.”

“I’m going to ignore the very obvious bait you’ve laid out here in favor of being the more mature adult,” Yusuf prefaced with one eyebrow raised in defiance. “But I agree with what you said. I’ll notify Mrs. Contreras later today so she can forward the list of student volunteers to me.”

“Thank you. Mr. Benjamin also has a soccer game this weekend. I’m planning to attend in support of him as he informed me his father would not be. I don’t think it would hurt for Mr. Benjamin to see  _ you _ there in support of him as well.” Nicky stared expectantly at Yusuf who was currently feeling like a gel blob being pulled in several directions mentally.

See, several things had happened for Yusuf while Nicky was speaking to him. For starters, being near him so soon after the man had been lying  _ beneath _ him only moments ago gave Yusuf the bizarre urge to want to get even closer to him. He had gotten lost in the jade colored eyes in front of him, growing practically hypnotized by how they seemed to see everyone and everything in the same way the sun saw all it touched with its warm brightness. The longer Nicky spoke, the more Yusuf began to realize that the man was indeed a disaster human in so many more ways than one. Hurricane Niccolo was presently barrelling its way around the inside of Yusuf’s chest in a way he hadn’t felt since—

“Yusuf.” 

The man in question blinked quickly and did his best to make it seem as though he hadn’t zoned out of the conversation. “I’ll be there,” Yusuf replied. “I’ll be at the game. Thank you for letting me know what happened.”

Then Nicky smiled and Yusuf felt his mouth go dry. Oh no. Oh  _ no _ . Did he  _ know _ he looked like that? It had to be a crime, Yusuf thought, because how could anyone have a smile so big and bright?

“Hey, Mr. G, are you married?” Indus Freeman asked from the stage. He was the nearly a clone of his sister: taller with brown eyes that always sparkled with mischief, warm brown skin that had never so much as known what the concept of acne was. 

Nicky turned to the students on the stage in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

Thalia attempted to shush Indus but he was on a roll now and no amount of desperate gesturing on Thalia’s part would be enough to stop him. “Are you married?”

“No?” Nicky replied, baffled. “Why—“

“See?  _ Told  _ you, Thalia!” Indus didn’t wait for Nicky to even consider finishing his sentence. 

The girl in question glared at Indus before turning to Nicky. “Ignore him.” Thalia pleaded.

“What about you, Mr. al-Kaysani?” Indus blurted out.

“Not anymore, Mr. Freeman,” Something hard and distant settled over Yusuf’s voice. His jaw clenched, ticking slightly as he began to wring his hands. “If you all could get your scripts out and go over Act III that would be wonderful. Evelyn, lead warmups please.”

Nicky’s gaze settled on Yusuf curiously. Whatever positive adjacent moment the two of them had been having felt like it had dissipated into the air like smoke. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

A humorless laugh escaped the other man. “I’m not.”

Everything suddenly felt very awkward for Nicky. He wasn’t sure what to say or what to do. He still thought Yusuf probably hated him but in the way people hated traffic or slow wifi connections.

“I’ve just remembered I need to make copies before my next class. I’ll see you around, Yusuf.”

Nicky did his very best not to give the appearance that he was fleeing the auditorium like a spooked deer.

  
  
  
  
  



	10. He’ll Be There

If he was honest with himself, Sebastian le Livre was head over heels for Nile Freeman. 

His mother had always said it was better to walk with truth than drown in denile. After so long of drowning, he felt like he was finally coming up for air. His recovery was going well. He’d been sober for several months now and, while it wasn’t easy, he didn’t feel as hopeless about it as he had before.

He and Nile had to postpone their date to see the Rodin Exhibit at the High Museum of Art indefinitely. He hadn’t actually been able to make it back to her place for lunch that day in the park when he’d felt like the ground would open up any second and swallow him whole. He was too embarrassed and all he’d wanted was his bed and a bottle of whiskey. As he could only have one of those things he bid Nile a rushed goodbye and proceeded to do something adjacent to ghosting her for the next few weeks.

They saw each other at the school occasionally but their conversations were always brief and shallow. Booker wanted to believe that pushing Nile away for a bit would help him but so far he just felt like a coward. He knew his reasons for isolating himself were valid. He was afraid of letting anyone in, especially after Giselle and Colette. He’d only bring Nile down with the industrial strength baggage he had.

The problem was that Nile Freeman, former Marine, could see right through it. She knew Booker was avoiding her but for the life of her couldn’t figure out why. She’d even tried asking Nicky about it one day at lunch in the teacher’s lounge, hoping he’d be able to provide some insight on the 180 Booker had done over the past few weeks.

“It isn’t my place to tell you, Nile,” Nicky said with a sad look in his eyes. “All I can say is...Booker has his reasons. If he wants you to know them then he will tell you himself.”

Nile narrowed her eyes in confusion. “What the hell does that even mean? Is he in trouble or something?” Nicky shrugged and went about eating his lunch as if neither of them had said a word to one another.

“You need to talk to her, Booker.” Nicky told his best friend over Chinese takeout that night. “She’s worried about you.”

The other man glared at him over the forkful of noodles he was shoveling into his mouth. “Stay out of it, little bear.” 

“She likes you. A lot. If you don’t feel the same you should at least tell her  _ that _ . Why  _ are  _ you avoiding her anyway?” 

Booker rolled his eyes but said nothing, only shoving more food into his mouth. It wasn’t until he began to scrape the bottom of the takeout container that he said anything else. 

“What am I supposed to say, Nicky? ‘Hi, Nile, I desperately want to date you but I’m a recovering alcoholic and widower who lost his wife and daughter in a house fire.’ She’ll run for the hills if she’s smart.” He frowned at the glass of apple juice in front of him, wishing desperately that it would transform into whiskey the moment he drank it. 

Not for the first time, Nicky found himself considering his best friend and all that he’d been through, wondering how on earth he was still alive. He remembered the dark period after Colette and Giselle died. He remembered just how low Booker had been, how hopeless it had all seemed then, how he felt like it was only a matter of time before his friend would take his own life just to see his wife and daughter again. 

Nicky remembered thinking,  _ believing,  _ that Booker would never be happy again. He’d never come close to it. But he’d seen the effect Nile Freeman had on him and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she deserved to know the truth from Booker. If she bolted after that, fine. But Nicky knew she wouldn’t just the same as he knew the sun would rise every day.

“Whether or not she’ll run is entirely up to her and what she feels for you, Booker. Don’t make the decision for her. This is the same woman who sat through a panic attack in the park with you and postponed your date to make sure you were okay. Give her a bit of credit.”

There was nothing Booker could say in response to that because he knew Nicky was right. He said nothing else on the matter the rest of the night. The next few days went by uneventfully until the OGSA soccer game that Saturday. 

“I can’t believe you’re an Arsenal fan. Don’t you love yourself?” Booker teased Yusuf al-Kaysani as they sat in the bleachers waiting for the game to begin. 

Yusuf scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk. Manchester United?! Seriously?” 

“They’ll get the Cup one day! Their time is coming.”

“De Nile is not just a river, Booker.” Yusuf replied wryly. “It’s not too late to see the error of your ways.”

“I heard my name.”

They both looked up to see Nile and Nicky, one of whom was holding a bag of snacks and the other a bag of water bottles. Booker felt his face grow hot as Nile looked at him, a hardness in her eyes. 

“Yes,” Yusuf said, entirely oblivious to the tension between Booker and Nile. “He confessed his sin of being a Manchester United fan.” 

Nicky smiled and sat down between Booker and Yusuf. “It is one of the most unfortunate things about him, I know. But I believe one day he’ll see reason and repent. I’ve been trying to get him to join me in being a Real Madrid fan but he won’t see reason.” 

Yusuf raised an eyebrow. “Madrid?  _ Laa afham _ . How on earth are you friends with this man, Booker?” 

They laughed and settled in just as the game was beginning. Nile passed out the snacks and water bottles, pointedly ignoring Booker’s searching glances, as if he was trying to communicate something telepathically to her. The game passed by quickly enough. OGSA was steamrolling the other team, Lexington High, into oblivion. Roman Benjamin was a central midfielder and he was a sight to behold.

“ _ Dio santo _ , he’s phenomenal.” Nicky said in awe, watching as he gave a particularly powerful kick to the ball that soared right past the goalie and into the net. “You think he’d consider playing professionally?”

Booker took another sip from his water bottle. “He will if he’s smart. Think he’d give Mbappe a run for his money.” When Roman scored, the four of them cheered loudly enough to draw his attention. They were greeted with a surprised smile on his face and a small wave.

The game stretched into the evening, eventually ending with OGSA winning 6-0 and Roman being hoisted up in celebration by his teammates. He looked into the bleachers and saw his teachers clapping and cheering for him and his smile was proud this time. They waved at him as he headed for the locker room and then began to make their way to the parking lot. 

“Booker, do you wanna come with me for dinner at that new Greek restaurant on Oakland Avenue?” Nile asked as they neared their cars. 

Booker looked like a skittish animal. “I...I don’t think I should—“

“He’ll be there,” Nicky interrupted sharply, ignoring the helpless look his best friend was giving him now. “I should probably be heading home anyway. Yusuf, I can drop you off home if you’d like.”

Yusuf looked suspiciously between Nile and Booker before replying warily, “Yeah, that would be great, thanks. See you on Monday.”

They headed to Nicky’s car and got in, peeling out of the parking lot as quickly as possible. Nicky laughed to himself as he looked in the rearview mirror and saw Booker anxiously run a hand through his hair before Nile started dragging him to her car.

“What was that all about?” Yusuf asked.

Nicky shrugged smugly. “I have no idea.” 


	11. Always Oblivious

“Start talking.”

Booker stared across the table at Nile, feeling his mouth dry up and any words he might say get stuck in his throat. Their order had just been taken so he wouldn’t have the excuse of eating to not speak.

“I don’t know how to.” Booker confessed honestly. He really didn’t know how to tell Nile what all he was feeling in a way that wouldn’t overwhelm and scare her. “I don’t know if you can handle….you  _ shouldn’t  _ have to handle it. It’s a lot.”

Nile raised an eyebrow. “I’m a former Marine, Booker. I think you’d be surprised what I can and can’t handle. If it’s something  _ I  _ did just be honest and—“

“No!” Booker exclaimed, causing a few of the restaurant’s patrons nearby to give their table a curious glance. “No. You’ve been...you’re perfect. It’s me that…” He trailed off, feeling very much like he’d never learned how to speak a day in his life. 

She reached across the table and placed her hand on top of his. “I just need you to be honest with me, Book. That’s all. I’m not gonna judge you! Hell, if you knew  _ half  _ the things I’ve done...Look. Just tell me what’s up with you so I can be there for you.”

Booker looked up at the ceiling, praying quickly to a God he knew had forgotten him long ago that Nile would still want to be around him once he told her the truth. “You’re sure you want to do this here?” 

“Yes.” Her reply came quickly and with barely any hesitation. 

“Fine.” Booker mumbled to himself. He took a long sip from his glass of water wishing so badly that it was vodka. “Look, Nile, I...I’m a recovering alcoholic. In May, I got arrested for a DUI.”

Nile’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh.”

“That’s not all,” Booker warned, his eyes drifting to some point behind her head so that he didn’t have to look at her directly and see the judgement in her eyes. “I was on a binge for a few weeks because...it was my daughter’s 10th birthday. Well, it would’ve been if she wasn’t...” His voice broke off because even now, five years later, his mouth had trouble forming the word “dead” where his daughter was concerned. 

He heard Nile gasp and saw the tears spring to her eyes. “Booker…”

“Her name was Giselle. Giselle Marie le Livre. My wife was Colette Estelle. They--they…” He shook his head in an attempt to clear it and loosen the vice grip that had suddenly settled around his neck. “There was a house fire. They didn’t make it.” His voice cracked and despite his best efforts tears began to roll down his face. He ducked his head as more patrons looked at their table. He felt Nile’s hand tighten around his. 

“I’m so sorry.” Nile said. Most people told him that when they found out what happened to his family. Unlike most people, Booker actually believed Nile. “Do you want to get out of here? I’m kind of tired of all these weirdos staring at us.” She cracked a watery smile at him and he returned it. 

“Yes, of course. That would be wonderful.”

* * *

“How are your cousins?” Nicky asked as he pulled onto the street where Yusuf’s home was. “Samir and Yasmin?”

“She has another month to go but we’re all taking bets on when she’ll have the twins since she looks fit to pop any moment now. Baba thinks she won’t last another week. Samir thinks she’ll go two weeks past her due date.” Yusuf replied fondly as Nicky’s car came to a stop in front of the old craftsman home that had housed the al-Kaysani family since they’d opened their grocery store. 

Nicky smiled. “And you? What do you think?” 

Yusuf shrugged. “I think she’ll go three weeks past the due date. I’ve never been wrong on that.”

“How do you figure?” 

“My brothers.” Yusuf replied simply, as if Nicky should already somehow know what he meant by that. “I knew my mother was pregnant before she did. She was glowing more than normal, you know? When I asked if I was going to get a little brother she laughed and dismissed it. But three weeks later she found out she was pregnant. I became the family pregnancy wizard if you can believe it.”

Nicky nodded to himself as he watched the other man. The moon was full and bright tonight, casting a pale glow into the car. It would have washed out anyone else, but Nicky couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful Yusuf’s skin looked under the moonlight.  _ Dio santo _ , he needed help. 

“Well, I suppose this is goodbye. I’ll see you at school?” Nicky hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question but for some reason he felt nervous around Yusuf. They never saw each other unless Nicky occasionally came to the auditorium to talk to one of his students or talk to Yusuf about one of his students.

Yusuf gave him a furtive glance, his expression suddenly closed. It startled Nicky a bit. There was always some sort of tension between them. It felt like things were beginning to thaw between them at the soccer game. It was as if Yusuf had suddenly remembered that he needed to be closed off and reserved again, like he’d said too much and regretted it. 

“Yeah,” Yusuf said eventually. “See you at the school. Thanks again for the ride. Maybe you aren’t an entirely disastrous human.”

“Yes,  _ maybe _ .” Nicky replied sarcastically.

He watched as Yusuf got out of the car and jogged quickly up to the older craftsman home painted a somewhat faded navy blue with a bright yellow door and the widest porch Nicky had ever seen. He waited until Yusuf unlocked the door and stepped inside before speeding away, wondering why his heart had started to ache the moment Yusuf got out of the car.

* * *

Thalia Kono excelled at plans. She always had a plan for everything and at least three backups in case those plans fell through. 

When she was ten she made a PowerPoint presentation on why she should be allowed to have her first sleepover and made her aunt and uncle her captive audience. They’d agreed to let her go. It was only a year and a half since her mother had passed away, and they were still hard pressed to tell her “no” for anything. In the end, she called her grandmother and they talked for hours, the two of them lamenting the fact that Maria wouldn’t be able to use her “cute old lady” routine on her son to help Thalia get what she wanted.

At age seven, she witnessed Indus Freeman get shoved off the monkey bars by Ivy Rogers and promptly begin sobbing as he realized his arm hurt too much to move. Thalia had her revenge during nap time a few hours later. Ivy was a notoriously hard sleeper that snored and twitched in her sleep. She also frequently wore pigtails that reminded Thalia of golden ropes. So, while their teacher was distracted by a riveting conversation with the kindergarten teacher down the hall, Thalia used the teacher’s scissors to cut off Ivy’s pigtails in her sleep. She quietly returned the scissors to the teacher’s desk and threw the blonde hair in the trash can by the cubbies. Ivy woke up and screamed. Since no one had seen what Thalia had done, the mysterious hair trimmer was never caught. Well, no one had seen what she’d done except Indus. 

From that moment on, Thalia and Indus were absolutely inseparable. They slept over at one another’s houses, joined the same little league soccer team, and even lived in the same neighborhood just a block over from each other. 

It naturally followed that although Thalia always had a plan and could get away with murder if she tried hard enough, Indus was the exact opposite. Tact and subtlety had never been his forte. He could hold secrets like a grocery bag could hold lava. So, it was utterly surprising when he called her later on the day of the Great Paint Fall in the auditorium with a plan.

“We have to get Mr. G and Mr. al-Kaysani together.” Indus said breathlessly the moment Thalia picked up.

“What?” Thalia dropped the t-shirt she was folding on her bed. “What are you talking about?”

Indus huffed on the other end of the phone. “I think they might like each other.” 

Thalia rolled her eyes. “Where the hell did you get that idea?”

“You were always oblivious, Thalia. You didn’t see how they were looking at each other like they were both water in a desert?” 

There was a muffled jumble of sound as Thalia readjusted the phone on her other shoulder. “Yeah, I saw it. But it probably doesn’t even mean anything!” She didn’t really sound like she believed what she was saying. Indus seized on it. 

“You definitely don’t believe that, Lili. But trust me. I know when someone’s moon-eyed over someone. And those two? Yeah. So, as I was saying, we gotta get them together. You heard Mr. al-Kaysani the other day. He isn’t married anymore. And Mr. G wouldn’t know a work-life balance if it slapped him in the face.”

“Indus, I don’t know,” Thalia replied warily. “What if Mr. G doesn’t like guys?”

Indus let out an exhausted sigh. “He does. Just because you didn’t realize he was dating Principal Copley for--”

“He  _ what _ ?!?” Thalia shouted, coming to a halt in the middle of her room. Her aunt and uncle distantly yelled up the stairs to her to tell her to quiet down. “Indus, what the fuck?!”

Indus laughed uncontrollably on the other end of the phone. “Shocked the hell out of me too! It was only for a few months but still.”

“Holy shit. I can’t believe I missed that!”

He laughed again. “Might be one of the only things in your life you ever missed.”

They were quiet for a while. Indus could practically hear the gears in Thalia’s mind spinning a mile a minute. He knew she would agree to his plan like he knew his own name. “Alright,” Thalia said eventually. “What are we going to do?”

“Aren’t plans  _ your _ forte?” 

It was as if someone had placed a battery back into Thalia’s brain. “Well, yes, obviously. But I wanted to give  _ you _ a chance in case you had something better in mind.”

“I  _ never _ have anything better in mind, Lili.”

“True,” Thalia conceded. “Very true. Okay, so here’s what I got so far…”


	12. Anxiety Inducing Curveball Pt. 1

“Who was that?” Darius asked curiously as he peered at his brother over his AP Physics textbook. 

Yusuf dropped his keys in the bowl by the door and took off his shoes and jacket. “Nobody. Just this guy from work.” 

“He’s not really your type though, is he? I thought your thing was tall dickhead—“

“Darius.” Yusuf warned, his eyes hardening. “Don’t.”

His brother rolled his eyes and shrugged before going back to his textbook to study for the test he had the following day. “Baba made dinner if you’re hungry. Spaghetti and meatballs.” Darius’s voice was already distracted as he got sucked into whatever he was reading. “You gotta warm it up though.”

Yusuf shook his head and went into the kitchen. True to his brother’s word, his father had left a plate of spaghetti and meatballs in the microwave for him. A glance at the clock on the microwave told him that it was well past his father’s bedtime. Good. At least he wouldn’t have to dodge questions from him about getting a ride home with a guy.

To be fair, Yusuf was always eternally grateful that his parents never disowned him or made him feel bad for being gay. They’d taken it in stride like they had everything else and simply told him to be careful. His father had never liked Keane and never missed a chance to tell Yusuf that for the duration of that relationship. His mother had been a bit more supportive but Yusuf knew she felt the same way too.

His mind was still buzzing from the ride with Nicky. He hadn’t expected to feel so fluttery inside being so close to the man. He hadn’t expected to think, even for just a moment, that Nicky the Disaster Human might actually be decent. More than that he realized he  _ wanted _ to be that close to him again for some inexplicable reason.

He didn’t sleep very well that night or the nights that followed. 

The Fall Festival was growing closer and closer by the day. He shouldn’t have dreaded the thought of volunteering to help out at the festival but he was all the same. He didn’t see Niccolo for the entire week. Nile’s music for the play was coming along wonderfully. Rehearsals were going well. Then came the weekend of the Fall Festival.

At Nile’s request, Yusuf was up bright and early for a Saturday. Criminally early, some might say. He made his way into the kitchen and started to make himself breakfast: turkey bacon, pancakes, and a fruit salad composed of apples, blueberries, and mandarin slices. His father, Cyrus, joined him when the food was nearly done.

“You’re awake early, my son.” 

Yusuf finished plating the last pancake from the skillet and turned to smile at his father. “And so I am. Good morning,  _ baba _ .” He yawned deeply and began to run a hand over his face, inwardly cursing Nile for telling him to be awake this early. 

His father looked hard at him, noting the bags under his eyes and his general exhaustion. “How are you, Yusuf? Truly.”

He was floored. He hadn’t really taken the time out to even answer that question for himself just yet. He found himself at a loss for words. “I—I don’t know.” There wasn’t much more he could say beyond that. 

His father reached forward to take his hand. “That’s alright, Yusuf. I feel the same too, you know. I miss your mother everyday. Every moment.”

Yusuf nodded absently. “Yeah,” he replied. “Me too.”

Cyrus gave him a small smile. “I am always here for you,  _ habibi _ . Always.” Before he knew it, he was reaching out to pull his father to him for a hug. If a few tears escaped his eyes that was quite alright.

“Thank you,  _ baba _ .”

They held onto one another for a few more moments before his father pulled away, patting his face fondly. “Think nothing of it, my son. I was hoping to catch you before you left today, you know.”

“Yeah?” Yusuf asked. He turned around to grab plates for himself and his father. Darius and Mohammad wouldn’t be awake for another few hours. “How come?”

“I told the rest of our family back home about your play. They want to come and see it!” Cyrus sounded so excited that Yusuf looked up in surprise. 

“ _ What _ ?” 

Cyrus’s smile grew wider somehow. “They want to come from Mahdia to Atlanta to see your play! They’ll be here for three weeks.”

He suddenly felt so nervous he had the urge to vomit. Pressure began building in his chest. “All of them?” He asked weakly.

“Your  _ khālāt  _ Fatima and Hadiya will be coming along with your  _ ‘ammah _ Salma and  _ a’mām  _ Omar. The cousins will be staying behind this time but wanted me to tell you they’ll try to visit next summer.”

Yusuf’s father was still talking but the words were beginning to sound like static. His family in Tunisia had  _ never _ come to visit them in America in the entire time he’d been living there. Granted, the al-Kaysani family wasn’t terribly wealthy back home but they were far from dirt poor. His mother’s family were on the poorer side of things compared to his father but both sides of the family were incredibly close with one another. 

He should have felt excited to see his aunts and uncle, and on some level he was, but he knew that the absence of his mother would be the strongest it was since the first time he’d come home after her death. His  _ khālah _ Fatima was his mother’s identical twin and he knew it would be most painful to see her. It would shred his heart to see a face that wasn’t quite his mother’s, hear a voice that was his mother’s and not, feel arms encircling him in a tight hug that  _ should  _ have been his mother’s but never would be. Not ever again. 

His  _ khālah _ Hadiya was younger by almost fifteen years, and she had always felt more like a cousin than an aunt to him. Salma was the only one of Cyrus’s siblings that was still alive. She was the baby of the family that had married Cyrus’s best friend Omar. Objectively speaking, they were Yusuf’s favorite relatives in the seemingly infinite family he had. And yet he couldn’t fight the dread that had formed in his stomach.

He wondered, as he watched his father move around the kitchen excitedly, what his aunts and uncle would make of him when they saw him. He was a failed stage actor who was divorced from another man and was living in his own father’s home. He would be a colossal disappointment. Fatima’s disappointment in him would be the hardest to deal with. He couldn’t handle a face that was both his mother’s and not look at him as if he’d let her down.

Besides, it was a  _ high school  _ play. Why the hell were they coming out to see it as if it were London’s West End? 

“The boys will take the sofas. Fatima and Hadiya will take their room. Salma and Omar will take my room. Would you mind allowing me your room?” Cyrus asked, yanking Yusuf up from the crushing depths of his anxious thoughts. 

He took a deep breath and did his best not to look like an anxiety attack was on the horizon. “Yeah, sure,  _ baba _ . Whatever you want,” The words tumbled in a rush from his mouth. “I should probably get going, I guess. I need to get to Winn Park to help setup for the festival.”

His father stared curiously at him but nodded his assent. Yusuf practically ran upstairs and rushed his way through a shower that was intended to calm him down but did nothing of the sort. He pulled on a slightly wrinkled blue sweater and dark jeans, bracing himself as best as he could for the day ahead and hoping the universe wouldn’t toss another anxiety inducing curveball his way.

The universe, of course, had other plans.


	13. May Wonders Never Cease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a whille! Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Things are going to get pretty angsty next chapter!

Booker and Nile were officially dating.

It didn’t take much to realize there was something between them. Nicky had known how much Booker cared for her for a while now, and had even talked him off the proverbial ledge when he nearly sabotaged himself trying to push her away. He was happy to see the two of them holding hands as they walked toward him in Winn Park. They were there early to start setting up for the festival and to get to their battle stations early.

“Yusuf and I are working the apple cider stand. What about you, Nicky?” Nile asked, a smile brighter than what he thought was appropriate for so early on a Saturday morning practically splitting her face. 

“I am in charge of taking tickets at the entry gate. Booker’s helping me too.” Nicky replied.

Nile’s jaw dropped. “What? No fair! I’d kill for an easy one like that. The last thing I wanted was to get stuck around the drunk parents after they put Fireball in the grown-up cider.”

Nicky and Booker laughed. “Well, how about this: you take my place at the gate and I will take your place at the cider stand. What do you think?”

She rushed forward and hugged him. “Awww, thank you, Nicky!” Then, her voice dropped as she whispered in his ear. “I really wanted to spend more time with Booker today. You’re the best.”

“You’ll have to tell me how it all went, you know. I’m dying of curiosity.” He whispered back.

They parted and Nile made an excuse about wanting to go speak with Dr. Mache about breaks in her shift. Booker stepped closer to him. “So? What do you think, little bear?”

Nicky shrugged. “I think,” he said slowly. “I’m glad you finally stopped trying to actively ruin your own love life. And I think she’s wonderful for you.” He clasped his friend's shoulder once and started making his way to the cider stand. It was still pretty early and whoever was supposed to be sharing the shift with him wasn’t there yet.

The sun was creeping further up in the sky, casting a beautiful golden glow across the park that was already beginning to buzz with activity. Nicky took out his phone and put on his Hozier playlist before setting it down on the table. Booker would have probably made fun of him for it but Nicky knew he had a soft spot for the Irishman.

Nicky got to work unpacking the containers holding four Crockpots and began setting them out on the tables. They were only supposed to use two at a time but whatever parent had graciously lent out their Crockpots had provided two backups in case anything happened. He made his way through to unpacking the ingredients they would need to get the cider started. 

“Oh, great. _You’re_ here.”

Nicky was unpacking the knives and cooking spoons from a bag in one of the containers when they almost slipped from his hands. He looked up and saw a tired and anxious Yusuf standing there looking at him as if he were the bane of his existence. “ _Buongiorno_ , Yusuf.” Nicky said eventually with a quick wave. “We still have another two hours or so before people start arriving for the festival. Plenty of time to make the cider.”

Yusuf nodded once to himself and took a deep breath as if trying to expel something particularly unpleasant from his body. A softer expression came to his face. “Nile told me the parents are expecting an adult version of the cider. We should probably figure that out before we start making it, right?” 

“ _Certamente_. My mother sent over a recipe from her best friend. She said it was foolproof.”

“Kind of hard to mess up apple cider though, no?” Yusuf asked. He’d started opening a bag of apples and was rooting around for a giant bowl to put them in so he could rinse them off. “Don’t you just cut up the apples and boil them with cinnamon sticks?”

Nicky stared at him as if he’d grown a third head. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Yusuf shrugged. “Sounds pretty easy to me.”

“ _Oddio_ , you uncultured swine. I have so much to teach you about the delicate art of making apple cider.” 

***************

By the time people started arriving for the festival, Nicky and Yusuf had finished making what they could both easily admit was the best apple cider in existence. The music on Nicky’s phone had changed to lo-fi hip hop beats at least an hour ago. 

“You know,” Yusuf said as they both sat in their folding chairs waiting for their first customer. “Maybe you aren’t _that_ bad of a human.”

“I have been trying to tell you that.”

“Some might call the way you attract unfortunate accidents magnetic. Your ability to become a walking talking chaos human is fascinating.” Yusuf replied with a teasing smile. His dark brown eyes sparkled brightly and it occurred to Nicky that he hadn’t ever really _seen_ him smile before. It made him feel warm inside. 

“As is yours,” he shot back quickly. “But you should know I’ve finally forgiven you for that unfortunate road rage incident.”

Joe sipped from his thermos of cider and gave him an incredulous look. “I suppose you’ve seen the errors of your ways then.”

“Me? I did nothing wrong. I reacted the way any normal human would!” He tried to keep a straight face but the sight of Yusuf trying to hold back his laughter sent him over the age. “Okay, maybe not normal.”

The first few hours passed quickly. They were swamped at the stand almost immediately but it didn’t feel as stressful as Nicky imagined it might. Yusuf was taking orders and Nicky was readying them for pickup. They stopped only when they ran out and needed to temporarily shut down the stand while they made more.

“So, _you’re_ the infamous Mr. al-Kaysani.”

They both looked up from the chopping board where they were trying their best to slice up the apples as quickly as they could. Standing there in a black sweater, dark jeans, and riding boots was Dr. Andrea Mache, head of the PTA and wife of Dr. Quynh Noriko-Mache. She was wearing dark shades since the sun had decided to bear down on all of them. Yusuf got the feeling that even though she looked so well put together this wasn’t her final form. 

“Infamous is a bit of an overstatement, I think. You must be Dr. Mache. Nile told me all about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Please, call me Yusuf.” He reached out a hand toward her and she took it immediately and firmly. “The festival is lovely. You truly outdid yourself.”

She shrugged as a shorter Asian woman whose hair was in a high bun with strands framing her face made her way toward them. She wore round glasses, a maroon sweater, black jeans, and khaki colored boots. “Please, just call me Andy. My wife did all the planning. I just paid for it. She has a knack for this kind of thing.” 

“It turns out,” Dr. Noriko-Mache said as she came to snake an arm around Dr. Mache’s waist. “That interior design isn’t as lucrative a field as I thought it might be. Thank God for med school though, right? I’m Quynh, by the way.”

“We’ve met.” Nicky replied with an almost embarrassed smile. “You saw me in the ER.”

“Concussion and broken arm, right?” Quynh asked in recognition. “Didn’t you fall off a stage or something?”

Nicky blushed and nervously ran a hand down the back of his neck. “ _Si_.”

Quynh smiled teasingly. “All better now, I hope?” 

He nodded. “My arm is a bit stiff and hurts from time to time but that’s to be expected. I only need the sling occasionally.”

Andy watched the two of them, a small smile on her face. While Quynh and Nicky were distracted, she turned to Yusuf. “How’s _King Lear_ going? Dr. Copley told me you were the new drama teacher. I have to say, I was pretty excited to hear what you had planned for the fall play.”

It was Yusuf’s turn to blush now. “It’s going well! We have about a month and a half until opening night. The students are all very excited for it.”

“As well they should be,” Andy replied with a pleased expression. “I’ve been hoping the department would do some good Shakespear. Clara and Vanessa are excited too! They’ll be taking you next year when they get to ninth grade.”

“I look forward to meeting them. Also, Andy, I can’t thank you and your wife enough for your help with the play. We actually have enough to make a pretty good set!” Yusuf felt himself beginning to relax a bit more. Andy wasn’t nearly as terrifying as Nile had made her out to be. She was certainly an intimidating woman and he had a feeling she probably knew that. 

“Yeah, well, I like putting my disposable income to good use. You know, you’ll have to help me and Quynh with planning the winter gala in February. It’s always a good time. There’s a date raffle and everything.” Andy’s eyes darted over to Nicky and her smile turned a little more into a mischievous smirk. He had no idea what that was about.

Quynh clapped her hands together excitedly. “Ohmygod, the date raffle! It’s my favorite thing about the gala! You’ll do it this year?” She was already nodding her head, encouraging him along. He found himself doing the same.

“Sure! Why not? I probably need to get out of the house more anyway. Just email me the specifics.” 

They carried on talking to one another for another hour or so. Quynh and Andy jumped in to help them with the cider as they prepared for the next wave of people to show up. Quynh and Nicky were in charge of the cider itself and Yusuf and Andy were in charge of taking and distributing orders. The time passed quickly before two parents from the PTA came to relieve them for the rest of the day. 

Somehow, Yusuf and Nicky found themselves walking around the park and taking in the sights of the festival. Eventually, they ran into Nile and Booker again who both had an odd desire to go to the ferris wheel. Yusuf decided to just go with it, and Nicky looked excited enough too so he didn’t see the harm in it. They got in line and waited for their turn to get into a compartment. Booker mentioned something about being afraid of heights to which Nicky casually reminded him about the time in college he’d gotten caught making out with the French professor’s daughter on the roof of the Languages building. 

“You didn’t seem so afraid then.” Nicky teased. “Or maybe it was the bourbon distracting you.”

Booker rolled his eyes. “Oh, little bear. Don’t you remember that I’m afraid of heights _because_ Professeur Maxim caught me on the roof of the Languages building and almost pushed me off the edge?”

Yusuf and Nile burst out laughing. “Book, are you serious?” Nile asked as she tried to catch her breath. 

“As a heart attack. And I’m glad you find humor in my misfortune, _ma chérie_. I came so close to death that day,” Booker replied, feigning wistful sadness as he placed a hand over his heart. “So close.”

Nile stood on her tiptoes to kiss him but only was able to reach his neck. “Yeah, yeah, drama queen. So close. Now, why do you wanna go on this damn ferris wheel so bad if you’re scared of heights?”

“This isn’t so bad. Besides, I have you and Nicky and Yusuf here to distract me. I’ll be fine.” He pulled her closer and kissed her forehead, to which she hummed contentedly. 

Nicky would be lying if he said it didn’t tug at his heartstrings to see how happy the two were together. He was happy that Booker had finally found someone new. He missed Giselle and Colette terribly and he knew Booker did too. He remembered how afraid he’d been that Booker might take his own life just to end the near constant pain he was in. Nile seemed to be a ray of hope and sunshine for him. Sebastien le Livre in love was a thing to behold. 

“Sorry, the compartments only fit two people.” The older man operating the ferris wheel told them when it was their turn to get in. “They’re too small for four.”

Before he could move, Nile was piling into a compartment with Booker which meant that he and Yusuf would be alone in their own compartment. Okay. Okay, fine, he could handle that. He was sure the butterflies that seemed to constantly be in his stomach when Yusuf was around would give him a break for the day today. And maybe he _wouldn’t_ feel like his skeleton would want to leap out of his skin from being so close to him. Maybe. 

“Are you gonna stand there all day or....?” 

Nicky blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. He saw that Yusuf had gone ahead of him and was sitting in the compartment with the door open, waiting for Nicky to join him inside. “Sorry. I got distracted.”

Inside, the compartments had a bench on one side with a seatbelt that could be pulled across the two people sitting on it. On the other side of the compartment was a floor-to-ceiling window that allowed a full view of the surrounding area. Nicky had a feeling the view from it once they got to the top of the ferris wheel would be something to die for. 

“I’ve decided I no longer hate you, Nicolo.” Yusuf said as the ferris wheel began to slowly move. 

“ _Che benedizione_ . I suppose you are not so terrible yourself.” Nicky smiled at him shyly. He thought he must have been imagining it when Yusuf’s face grew rosy. He _definitely_ had to be imagining things when Yusuf’s eyes darted down to Nicky’s lips. “You might even be, dare I say it, a very lovely man.” 

“May wonders never cease.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think? How are you feeling about the speed of things between Nicky and Joe?


	14. The Big Bad Ferris Wheel

It was truly unfortunate, or fortunate as Nicky would come to think later, that the ferris wheel got stuck just as he and Yisuf had gotten to the top. The admittedly ancient looking colossus ground and churned to a halt with a slight lurch. The breath practically flew out from Nicky and Yusuf’s bodies. 

“ _ Madre di Dio _ ,” Nicky breathed out as he grabbed Yusuf’s arm and held on tight. He peered over the side of their compartment and, through the window, he could see people on the ground pointing up at the wheel and freaking out. As he suspected, the wheel wasn’t moving. They were, at present, stuck in their compartment. He tried his best to stamp down the fear coiling its way up his throat. He’d been on plenty of rides at fairs and amusement parks. He’d been on plenty of planes and had even gone cliff diving with his cousins before. He’d  _ never _ been afraid of heights. Until now. “I don’t like this.”

Yusuf smiled over at him. “Never been stuck on a ferris wheel before?” 

Nicky fixed him with a flat look. “ _ Si _ , Yusuf, it happens to me all the time.” His sarcastic response made Yusuf laugh and Nicky rolled his eyes. “Just when I was beginning to think you might not be so bad…”

“Don’t worry, Nicky, I won’t let the big bad ferris wheel get you.” He reached over with his free hand to pat Nicky’s hand that was still gripping his other arm tightly. “We’ll be down from here soon enough. No use worrying about it.”

“No use? Yusuf, we’re stuck on top of a large knot of metal several feet in the air. What do you mean there’s no use worrying about it?” Nicky looked at him as if he’d grown three heads. 

Yusuf pulled back from him. “So climb down.” 

“ _ Sei matto _ ! Why on earth would I do something like that?”

“Why would you not?”

Nicky’s eyes narrowed. “Yusuf, you can’t possibly--”

“What I’m  _ trying _ to say, Nicky, is that unless you plan to climb down the side of this ferris wheel to get back to the ground, there is no use in worrying. We’ll be up here until we aren’t. Someone is going to help get us down.”

Nicky felt that admitting Yusuf had a point would wound his pride too much so he sighed deeply and put his face into his hands. He did so hate being in situations he couldn’t control. 

The compartment was quiet. All that could be heard were the far away sounds of the festival goers on the ground and the distant sounds of traffic around the park. Yusuf was certain it wouldn’t be long before he heard the sound of fire trucks and police cars. 

“So. You and Booker. How’d you two meet?” Yusuf asked.

Nicky sighed again and sat up. “We went to university together. These men were harassing him and I stood up to them on his behalf. We’ve been inseparable ever since.”

“And he calls you ‘little bear’ because…?”

Nicky laughed to himself. “Because I was considerably smaller than those men and yet I managed to scare them off. He said I was like a little bear. I hate the nickname of course but Booker still calls me it. He’s the only person in the world who can.”

Yusuf smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “You two seem as close as brothers.”

“I suppose we must be,” Nicky admitted, his face suddenly serious. “I was all he had after his wife and daughter passed away. Booker was dealing with...well, he can tell you himself one day if he wants you to know.”

Yusuf hummed to himself in response. “Then it is good he has you around.”

Nicky grimaced slightly. “Copley didn’t seem to think so.”

“Copley?”

“We dated for some time. It was around when I first arrived here. He’s a wonderful man but he grew jealous and resentful of how close Booker and I are. He insisted something was happening between us even though nothing could be further from the truth. It caused us to break up.” Nicky explained. 

Yusuf’s eyebrows were practically in his hair now. “And you still work at OGSA after all that?”

Nicky shrugged. “Copley is nothing if not professional. And besides, he wasn’t the principal then. Steven Merrick was. And he was an absolute nightmare. Copley was an English teacher.”

Suddenly, it felt as if Yusuf had been shoved deep down into a twelve feet deep pool. His blood was rushing in his ears and his hands were clenched tight into fists. Merrick. Merrick.  _ Merrick _ . No, it couldn’t be. That was a common last name, wasn’t it? There was no way it was  _ that  _ Merrick. There was no way it was the man Keane had left him for.

“Yusuf, what’s wrong?” Nicky’s eyes were alert and bright with concern. 

“Merrick?” Yusuf asked again. 

“ _ Si _ , that’s what I said. Yusuf, do you  _ know _ him?”

“I might. Was he obscenely rich and moved to San Francisco to get married?” Yusuf asked, his voice rising in pitch with each word.

Nicky nodded, confusion and concern still etched on his face. “Yes, that’s him. But how did you know—“

Yusuf tried to laugh but it came out a choked sob. “ _ He _ is who my husband left me for after my mother took her own life. Small world isn’t it?” His voice had taken on a falsely cheerful tone undercut by the shiver in his voice and the shaking of his hands.

It felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of their compartment. Nicky moved closer to him and held Yusuf’s shaking hands in his. “ _ Oddio _ , I’m sorry, Yusuf. That’s awful.”

“Yeah. That’s one word for it.”

They were quiet. The only thing that could be heard was Yusuf’s quick breathing and sniffling. He was trying  _ very _ hard not to cry. He’d wasted more than enough time and tears on Keane anyway. He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing as best he could. Some distant part of him felt thoroughly embarrassed to be doing all of this in front of Nicky of all people.

“Tell me about your family,” Nicky said, still holding Yusuf’s hands. “What are they like?”

“I have two brothers, the twins. Darius and Mohammad. They’re sixteen. And there’s my dad. He is one of the strongest people I know.”

“Tell me about him?”

Yusuf shrugged. “He used to be an engineer in Tunisia. But when we moved here nobody would hire him. So, he and my mother took all the savings they had and some money our family back home sent and started a grocery store. My mother worked as a nanny to some rich families in Buckhead for a while until the store was more profitable. When that happened, my father told her to quit and go to school. She hadn’t had the chance back home.”

His breathing was slowing down. His hands were shaking less. Nicky continued on. “Where did she go?”

“Georgia Tech. Biomedical engineering. She finished in two and a half years. We barely saw her since she was always in class or doing work for class. My father was so supportive though,” Yusuf’s voice took on a fond tone. “He would make her breakfast, lunch, and dinner and keep it in the fridge for her so she would always have something to eat. He turned our attic into an office for her so she would always have a place to work and study. When the twins came, Samir and Yasmin would watch them for her or my father would take them out of the house for a few hours so she could focus.”

Nicky smiled. “He sounds like an incredible man.” 

Yusuf nodded. “He is. When my mother graduated, she ordered another copy of her degree from the school and gave it to him. She said it was as much his as it was hers.”

“She sounds like a phenomenal woman.” Nicky replied.

“She was,” Yusuf agreed, though the fond smile on his face was slowly melting away by the second. “That’s why I can’t understand why she—why she left.”

The compartment was growing darker as the sun was beginning to set, casting the two of them in burnt golden glowing light. The sound of sirens could be heard now, growing closer and closer by the minute. Nicky looked again outside the window. The crowd gathered in front of the ferris wheel was parting for someone to come through. 

“I think we are being rescued.” Nicky stated. 

Yusuf leaned over him to peer out the window and Nicky was suddenly dizzied by the scent of him. He smelled of balsam and burnt oranges and pine. Nicky felt his mouth begin to water. They were  _ so _ close. He wondered if—

“It looks that way,” Yusuf replied quietly. He turned to look at Nicky and his eyes darkened slightly upon seeing how close they were to one another. “I think I owe you dinner.”

Nicky swallowed. “Whatever for?”

“For distracting me. I was on my way to a very embarrassing panic attack.”

“There was nothing embarrassing about it, Yusuf. I was more than happy to help.”

Yusuf leaned a little closer to him, maybe a few inches away. “I haven’t heard an answer yet.”

“Yes,” Nicky breathed out almost immediately, as if he were under some sort of spell. “I would like dinner with you very much.”

The ferris wheel groaned and lurched to life. They were moving again. Unfortunately, they’d both taken off their seatbelt so naturally, when the wheel jolted, they both tumbled to the floor of the compartment in a clumsy tangle of limbs. Nicky was now on top of Yusuf.

It felt as if time had slowed to a grinding halt. They were moving, Nicky knew, but he suddenly felt rather weightless looking down at Yusuf. The smell of him surrounded Nicky and he began to feel a little dizzy again. 

“You just can’t seem to stop trying to hurt me, can you?” Yusuf’s voice was practically a whisper. 

Nicky’s mouth now felt dry and his words felt stuck in his throat. “I do not think I could ever hurt you, Yusuf.”

“And yet you have. Many times. But I have decided, Nicolo, that you are not  _ so _ bad.”

“No,” Nicky replied. “I am not.”

What  _ was _ so bad was that the two of them didn’t seem to notice the wheel moving faster than it had when it was carrying them up to the top. They didn’t even seem to realize that it came to a stop until they heard banging on the door of the compartment. “Mr. G? Mr. al-Kaysani? You guys okay?”

It was as if the trance between them had been broken. They sprang apart immediately and attempted to right themselves. When they looked up to see who had spoken to them, their stomachs dropped into their feet.

Standing outside the compartment with a stunned expression on her face was Thalia Kono, one of their students. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Andy was right behind her smirking deviously. And so was Booker.

Nicky wanted nothing more than to melt into the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Leave reviews if you want to tell me how much you did❤️


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